


Teardrop

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Series: Intertwined [1]
Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Bisexual Male Character, Brendaal Futures Program, Canon-Typical Violence, Death Star, F/M, Friends to Lovers to Enemies, Gen, Implied sexual content (later chapters), M/M, Pre-Rogue One, Rogue One Compliant, Rogue One Spoilers, Slow Burn, Sorry about my Krennic obsession, Teardrop Inn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 57
Words: 89,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9176560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: The  story of Galen Erso and Orson Krennic, from its beginnings at the Brentaal Futures Program to its ending by the machine they constructed together. Slow burn story, full of heartache, heartbreak, and the danger of obsession.





	1. A Brief Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a slightly unhealthy obsession with Orson Krennic. And his relationship with Galen Erso. And him in general. I recommend listening to Teardrop Inn by Sundy Best, since it is the song I listened to that inspired me to write about this specific pair; if country is not your speed (it isn't mine), then at least listen to the chorus. It's terribly sad when you think about KRennic and Galen. Either way, thank you for reading, and if you have an extra moment, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

He smiled, his most charming, well-adjusted smile that he reserved only when his need was greatest. This was one such occasion, when a failing physics grade would have meant he couldn't complete the engineering program and the only person who understood the Munich theory they had been learning was sitting in front of him, somewhat reminiscent of a wounded animal. He stuck out a hand, "Orson Krennic." He knew this boy's name, but thought they might be better served by formality, given his classmates startled features.

After a moment of silence, the other boy took it. "Galen Erso." Krennic waited, the smile still on his face as he pulled his hand back. After a prolonged awkwardness, Galen spoke again, "Did you need something?"

"May I sit for a moment?" He tried to act almost shy, match his persona to Galen's, a difficult task for a man who typically proceeded boldly forward with whatever he was planning. Galen nodded and Orson flipped open his holopad as he pulled the chair out. "We have physics together."

"You sit in the third row. Second seat from the left." Orson was startled, his eyebrows lifting upwards for a moment, but he just nodded. "We haven't spoken before."

"True." He was beginning to wonder where Galen Erso had gotten his social cues, clearly not from the same place Orson had: state dinners, formal gatherings, lavish parties where everyone had money and could quickly talk their way to more. He had learned that being blunt rarely got you anywhere in a conversation, though now with Galen, all he had learned seemed upended. "There's never a bad time to make friends."

"Oh." Was all Galen said, almost as if he could not imagine someone trying to make friends with him. He stared at Orson for a moment, who was starting to question his plan altogether, but Krennic, having perfected the art of asking for help, began to look like he was working on his own holopad and Galen followed suit. He had a pen, an actual pen and pad of flimsi in front of him, running fingers over the screen of his old-model holopad and taking notes in flowing, multicolored script as Krennic watched him. He was writing mathematical formulas as if they were simple sentences, his lips flicking up and down at the corners as he worked, up when he easily moved through part of a problem, down when he would hit a small snag. But to Krennic's wonder, the snags remained small and nothing seemed to stop his progress for more than a few short moments.

He pretended to work on his screen, responding to communications from friends about dinner plans under the guise of homework. He needed this boy's help, but was almost too interested in watching him to interrupt his progress. His need for a decent grade won out, however, and he quickly switched the screen over to the problem he had been stuck on for well over an hour.

"I noticed you were working on the section about Munich." He said, and after finishing a line of script, Galen's dark eyes flickered upwards at him. "Do you think you could help me with this?" He turned the pad, though Galen's eyes stayed on him for another moment before moving to the screen.

"You are not using the Rydberg constant correctly. It is supposed to be in the first section of the equation, not the second." He had looked at the problem for all of three seconds before he answered and went back to his own work. Krennic blinked, looking over his own work, not fully understanding why what Galen said was true, but knowing that it was correct. He redid the work, and in a few minutes, realized that Galen had been right, his problem now corrected to reflect the right answer.

He started work on the next one, remembering when to use the constant, but it was no use. "Sorry," He said, doing his best to look sheepish. "What about this one?" Galen leaned back this time, setting his pen down.

"Divide it into two sections, the theory applies only to things already in motion. The second is not." Galen sat, and Krennic was very aware that his eyes were on him as he began and finished the calculations. "Do you need help with the next one?" Krennic could feel his face going red, an unfortunate habit. He rubbed his hand roughly over his neck.

"If you don't mind." He set up the pad between them, and in his own short, clipped fashion Galen began to explain what was happening in each of the remaining questions. There were occasions when Krennic would interrupt him for explanation and he would blink as if he hadn't really expected him to be listening. But then he would continue, offering a few words of help before moving on with his original explanation. By the end, Krennic thought he might have a decent shot at passing whatever quiz was coming up, and the test after that, and that he certainly had gotten a perfect score on the homework.

"Well," He said, when the 100% flashed across the screen as they finished, "Thank you, Galen. You may have saved my career in engineering after all."

After a moment, Galen spoke, "You want to join the Corp?" Krennic tilted his head, the Republic Corp of Engineers was the most profitable arm of the Republic, where men and women were paid large sums of money to design the inner workings of the Republic and feed the machines of safety and waging war that it kept. His father certainly wanted that future, which was the most secure job in the galaxy, but if he had to be honest, he saw himself as more of a visionary. He found himself focusing most easily in his architecture courses, which he was slowly filling his electives with, and thought that might suit him better. Grand construction projects, branding his name and style across the galaxy: it would be perfect.

"Perhaps. Are you? You certainly seem to…"

"Research." Galen said, and then looked down, realizing he had interrupted. But Krennic didn't mind, the rest of his words had been simple filler. "I think I am more suited for research. I have some ideas in mind."

He was looking back up at him, and Krennic watched as the tops of his ears turned pink as he spoke. He thought for a moment, thinking that Galen would probably be best suited for research, the solitude of work rather than the extensive team efforts that were dominating the engineering field as the galaxy became larger and larger, and the projects along with it.

"I'd love to hear them." He said, with that smile again, and just the right tone of flattery. "But I'm afraid I've got to be going." He stood, placing his pad back inside of his bag. Galen was looking down again, obviously thinking that since Orson Krennic had gotten what he wanted, he wouldn't pay him any more mind or time or attention. "Are you available for lunch tomorrow? After class, I know an excellent place not far from here we could go."

Galen blinked up at him, that same look of almost startled fear on his face. His ears turned pink again, and he drew his arms into his body. "I am on the dining plan…" Krennic tried not to curl his lips at the thought of having to eat the horrible food served in the dining halls each day. He often went only for a quick bite of breakfast, or something small after a pick-up game of smashball. He, along with most of the others, had more than enough money to eat wherever they chose.

"My treat, of course. Since you have gotten me through physics, the least I can do is a meal." He smiled, knowing how to make his paying for it not seem like an act of charity but rather one of retribution. "It will give us a further chance to discuss your research."

Galen said nothing for a long time, his eyes moving back and forth. "Of course, if you would rather not..." Krennic said, and Galen immediately shook his head.

"I will meet you tomorrow after class." Galen interrupted again, again looking down.

"Excellent." He said, and pulled his bag around his shoulders, leaving with a flourish to the confused looks of other students who couldn't understand why Orson Krennic would spend any more time than he had to with a scholarship student from Grange.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who read, kudos'ed, or commented! Y'all are the best! Hope you enjoy this chapter as well, more to come shortly! :)

"So, you're from Grange?" Galen Erso was picking apart a piece of bread with long fingers that Orson can see are weathered and calloused, the skin dark around the knuckles and nails. He looks at his own hands, the skin pale enough that he can see his veins towards the ridge above his thumb. He wonders if he should pity Galen for living a life to merit such rough hands, or do something to make his own look more worn.

"Yes. My family owns land there." His words, as they were the day before, are clipped. Not in a rude fashion, only because Krennic gets the impression that Galen will never say more than he has to.

"What is it that they do?"

"They are farmers." Krennic stirs his soup, taking a view bites. It's rich, thick and full of starch. Galen hasn't touched his, seeming instead intent on removing every bit of crust from his roll.

"The soup is good." Galen's eyes look up to him, impassive, as he sorts the bits of food on his plate into two neat piles, crust and the middle of his bread. Only then did he touch his spoon, removing the garnish before he stared to eat his food. "Are you an only child?"

"Yes." Galen said, after a couple of bites of soup. "My mother has not remarried since my father passed and she has no other children." It briefly crossed Krennic's mind if Galen Erso was capable of lying. If he was, he certainly didn't seem to mind sharing things with Orson, whom he had known for less than a full day.

"I'm an only child as well. Makes it easier to leave, I suppose." Galen continued to eat his soup slowly and deliberately, occasionally setting his spoon down to eat a piece of bread. Krennic leaned back in his chair, choosing instead to study Galen Erso, since it was clear that he did not want to talk.

He had done his research on this strange boy the night before, after all was said and done and his roommate had gone to bed, he had sat up late on his holopad and found all there was to know about Galen Erso. He looked identical in the pictures they had of him from when he was awarded his scholarship. Though they were all required to wear uniforms on site, he could see that Galen's old clothes were worn, torn, and stained with dirt. His face had hardened lines of a much older man, and the woman next to him in these photos, his mother, looked nothing like him except in the strength she seemed to possess, her dress just as worn as his. As he looked at Galen now, he could tell the same from his uniform, it was an older wear, one from last year. He wondered how many the boy owned when he himself had enough to last him a couple of weeks before he could pay off a staff member to do his laundry.

Beyond that, those view pictures and photographs of Galen accepting his scholarship, there was nothing. No record of family, no employment for the Republic, no record of formal schooling. Nothing. Except his name attached to research he had done with a professor the year before on Ilum, where he had been allowed entry to a special Jedi sanctuary, apparently to study kyber crystals. That was it. The boy in front of him, which he had learned was a couple of years older, was an enigma to say the least. And he, being the person he was, wanted to know more about him.

And, so, he did the only thing that he knew to without speaking. He watched. Watched as Galen's fingers seemed to twitch and tighten over the ends of his cloth napkin. Watched as he organized and then reorganized his food each time it would fall briefly out of place. Watched as he, when he finished his soup, wiped the spoon completely clean with a perfectly folded paper napkin before placing it back on the table, aligning it with his fingers to the other two. An interesting person, indeed.

"Do you know what you are going to order?" Krennic, unable to handle the prolonged silence.

"I have not eaten here before." He said, folding his hands in front of him on the table, looking directly at Krennic. His gaze was almost piercing, as if he were questioning Krennic at all times. Krennic welcomed the challenge. "Do you have a recommendation?"

"I like the pasta." Krennic said, folding his menu and placing it on the table. "Or, occasionally, some of the poultry options."

"The pasta sounds like a good choice." Galen said, and closed his own menu, his gaze suddenly breaking from Krennic's.

"I saw your name attached to some research in the program records." Krennic said, picking up his drink to make his statement appear casual. "Is that what you were talking about?"

"The kyber research?" Galen looked back up again, almost startled. Krennic nodded, rolling his finger so that Galen might continue. But the waiter interrupted him. After they had ordered, Galen in a low, mumbling tone, KRennic looked back at him.

"It seemed quite impressive. To get to see a piece of Jedi architecture alone would be incredible." Galen nodded. "Are you continuing that line of work?"

He had not thought it possible, but something in Galen Erso seemed to open when he began to speak again. His words came fast, drawing out his outer-rim accent even more so than usual. He began to speak in calculations, in terms of energy generation and power cores and strength of star systems and things Krennic understood on a very base level, far more still than most of the population. He spoke from memory: the equations vital to his own calculations, and spun a web of possibilities for harvesting, manipulating, and using kyber as a means of progress for the galaxy.

As Krennic listened, his smile grew broader, more genuine. To have a person so invested in an idea was always valuable, to know what a person considered to be of the utmost importance always gave a leg up in terms of negotiation and decision-making. However, for reasons not known to him, he was happy for another reason. It was obvious that this discussion was making Galen Erso the happiest he had ever seen him. Fully invested in both mind and spirit to an idea he truly believed would help. And, though he lacked Krennic's acute articulation, he spoke with an urgency that almost made Krennic see the pieces of his vision.

He continued speaking, uninterrupted, until the food came. It seemed to occur to him how long he had been talking, and Krennic watched as his ears grew red with embarrassment, no longer meetings Krennic's eyes, but instead staring at the noodles on his plate. And lunch ended that way, with Galen Erso looking down in silence and Orson Krennic watching his every move.

The next day, he moved seats in physics. He no longer sat in the third row, but in the only empty seat in the class, next to Galen Erso, who looked at him with his usual expression by said nothing. If the professor noticed, he said nothing as he handed back exams. Krennic stuffed his away, the high marks meaning little in the face of what he had now discovered. The boy sitting next to him was a genius, he had dropped the name a few times since lunch and discovered that he had disproven a professor on his first semester here.

The girl he always sat next to turned back to look at him, some of the other boys whose father's and mother's were important people began to whisper around him. He knew what they were saying, but in the end it wouldn't matter.

"Did you need something?" Galen Erso asked him, and he turned around, slightly startled. Galen was not one to initiate their handful of conversations.

"Not today." And it was true. He needed nothing. Not yet. And perhaps a small part of him only wished for Galen's company. An unusual feeling for someone who had long ago decided that alone was the best way to be.


	3. Chapter 3

He stepped out of his room, the hallways cast in low light as most of the occupants were either fast asleep, working on unfinished problem sets, or nursing a bottle to completion behind closed doors. He didn't see anyone else in the hall, a rarity for him not to be surrounded by a somewhat admiring posse, but tonight he breathed a sigh of relief. He had stayed up far too late working for finals beginning tomorrow, and his brain was moving far too quickly to sleep.

He ran a hand through his hair, having pulled on a coat over his sleep tunic and pants so that if he wanted, he could go outside. He saw one of the custodians mopping the hall at the end of the lane, but other than that, nothing even made him pause when walked out of the door, the sounds and lights of the city they were under coming to life as the air he breathed changed around him from staleness and sleep to the bright lights of a fast-paced life that he would enjoy someday, when the days of useless schooling were behind him.

So far below the planet's surface, it was cold, and he pulled his jacket tight around him, knowing better than to leave the school grounds this late alone. So instead he walked, willing the energy that he had used to process calculations and consider different approaches in his architectural construction to still in his brain. He was starting to think it was no hope, considering returning to his room for the parcel of cigarettes he kept hidden in his roommate's (who had dropped out without telling him) old desk to ease some of the tension he was feeling. Or perhaps a glass of whiskey, placed in one of his dress boots beneath his neatly pressed school uniforms in his closet. But, then, standing by the knee-high fence, he saw a familiar figure.

The dark hair of Galen Erso stood out in contrast to the rest of him wrapped in light from a nearby illuminator. He was facing away, hands in his pockets, looking out over the fence into the nothing that lied beyond it. Krennic paused, watching him for a moment. This was the only place on campus where the actual sky, not the city was visible. One of the many access pipes lined with lifts to carry professors, students, and teachers to the upper levels at will, and to move people around above them. Beyond that lay the galaxy, illuminated in simple dots along the rim of the upper atmosphere. A scene that Galen was watching with the same kind of intensity that Krennic had seen him approach all things.

He still knew little of Galen Erso. He was quiet enough that if Krennic didn't ask him a direct question, he rarely spoke. Krennic had never seen him in the nightclub most frequented by students, never drinking in the large or small groups that collected around campus, he rarely even saw him at the required social events hosted by the college as a source of networking. And when he was there, he was usually alone, standing in a corner until it was acceptable for him to leave. They now shared a desk in physics, and when Krennic would go to the library alone, he would seek Galen out, sit with him, even if he didn't need assistance. His grades had gone up by ten percentage points, and he and this strange boy were now top of the class. He was yet to see Galen smile.

He wondered why he was here at all. Outside at three in the morning, of course, when he had seen no one except the janitor. But also at Brendaal in general, where he seemed to fit in best with the books he was always with.

"It's strange to see the stars so far below the planet's surface." Galen whipped around, his ears turning their characteristic red with embarrassment, but he held Krennic's gaze, completely expressionless. "Although it's not much easier to see them from Lexrule's capital than it is from here."

He stepped forward, hands in his coat pocket. The thin jacket that Galen wore was laughable against the wind that was whipping around them from the speeders and barges that flew past on the underground speedways. Krennic frowned, wishing briefly that he could do something to help him, but since Galen didn't seem bothered, he ignored the odd twinge.

"You are from Lexrule?" Galen said, in his accented lilt, both of them now gazing at the galaxy beyond them.

"Yes. My parents are there, my father owns a large portion of the banking on the planet, my mother's family has made their fortune in public health." He was surprised to find himself sounding almost guilty. He had never, when discussing his past, though his past a point of contention. In the program, there were others that were far wealthier, who came from larger families that had wielded power across the galaxy for centuries. Now, it felt odd. To discuss money as if it were definitive of himself. That wasn't what he wanted. His family name had gotten him here, but it would be his own talents, his own greatness that would carry him forward. And here, with Galen Erso, who he had realized over the past three weeks might be the most brilliant man he had ever met, his family money seemed to be a very far away thing indeed. "Not the nicest people to be around though, not someone to look at stars with."

Galen blinked, his ear read-tipped again, but he turned slightly towards Krennic, his eyes still fixed on the far stars. "They are easy to see on Grange. Over the trees. My mother likes them. She thinks they give her the light that she needs."

"Needs for what?" Krennic couldn't stop the words from coming out of his mouth, a rare flaw for him. But his weariness was starting to settle into his bones and his mind. He tried to imagine having a similar conversation with his own mother, who sat opposite him at their long dinner table and rarely spoke to anything but the voice commands on her holopad as she ran the Medical Center in the capital from home. Or his father, who had all the expression of a boot and as much of the personality. It was absurd.

"I am not sure. She has never explained it." He looked over at Galen Erso and watched his face. He looked calmer than Krennic had ever seen him, there was no tension in his serious features, no strain. He looked forward with the calmness of a boy who knew all that he wanted from the world and was confident it would come to him. He looked almost happy, his thin lips turned slightly upwards in a small smile.

"Why are you out here, Galen?" Krennic, deciding to save himself the discomfort of family conversations.

"I have trouble sleeping."

"Because of finals?"

"No," Galen said, actually turning to him as if giving him some large consideration. "I have trouble sleeping most nights. Why are you out here, Orson?"

It was rare that someone used his first name, even the people who had given it to him usually just referred to him with a look or general statement in his direction. He blinked. "Finals, I suppose. Needed to burn off some energy." Galen nodded, looking away again. "Would you like to go in now, it's a bit cold, and your jacket seems…thin."

Galen looked down, as if noticing for the first time that his jacket was almost see through in large patches. He nodded, and to Krennic's surprise, gave a small laugh at himself. It was an odd sound, nice but strange, as if he hadn't done it too often and was nervous about how it might sound. "Of course."

They turned to walk in, taking most of the first steps in silence, Krennic realizing he could see his breath as walked back towards the compound. "You are in architecture courses?" Galen asked. Krennic nodded, a little surprised. He couldn't remember mentioning it. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing major yet. Hopefully soon."

"What are you planning?" Galen's words seemed carefully measured, almost as if he had practiced speaking them. Krennic had to wonder briefly if he had, but decided to appreciate the effort. The rest of their walk, all the way to Krennic's room, was spun with tales of his designs, how to make the structures he was planning condensed in space but appear large in scale. How the simple line effects he had planned would be effective in increasing space and making the entire structure more symmetrical. Galen listened, nodding on occasion, but never interrupting.

They parted, and Krennic shut the door behind him, leaning back on it. He could hardly believe it. For him to carry their conversations was typical. For Galen to instigate them was unheard of, and for him, who was only as open as he needed to be with personal information, to have talked straight about some of the things he considered most important with a potential competitor, was astounding. But yet, thinking of Galen's smile as he spoke, his slight laugh outside, his ear tips turning red as he faced away, he couldn't help but give a small smile himself, abandoning his coat and letting the tiredness pulling at his bones as he sank back onto his mattress before the next day came too quickly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Galen calls Krennic on his bullshit...Thanks to everyone who has Kudos'ed or commented, I'm glad you all are enjoying and would love to continue to hear what you all have to think! :)

"Would you like one?" He asked, holding out a piece of spun sugar candy in his hand. Galen didn't look up from his paper, shaking his head to the point that he had to push fringe out of his eyes to continue. "For kriffs sake, Galen, the term is over." But the boy shook his head, seeming not to care too much that that classes had finished when there was work to be done.

And that was true enough. The rest of campus was moving around them at an even pace, with the two of them seated at a table while everyone shuttled out bags and boxes to go home for the break. Had it been this time last year, Krennic would have been among them. His last comm home had been to tell them he was staying and a large deposit in his bank account to finance it a few minutes after he had hung up. They wouldn't be the only ones here, of course, there would be others spread out few and far between over the next two weeks, but none that Krennic had interest in. Students who were old enough to not want to go home and also not want to talk to him, others whose parent's didn't want them home and who he saw no bright future for. And then there was Galen, who sat doing calculations despite the fact that he had aced every exam over the past week and was sitting as the quiet champion of their physics class.

Their professor had approached him, Krennic had seen it. He had wanted Galen to continue his work, offered him funding. He had heard Galen say that he needed to consider it, which he personally thought was foolish. "Have you taken Candor up on his research offer?" He saw Galen's blink, even though he wasn't looking at him.

"Not yet." He continued to work.

"You seem hesitant." Galen seemed to realize, though it had taken him longer than most might, that Krennic was not going to stop talking and let him write. "He seems to be offering you everything you need to continue your research."

"Yes." Galen's hands were folded, "But," He hesitated, as if about to share something that he had second thoughts about. "There will be others…"

Krennic realized that Galen would not be able to work with just anyone. It was one thing to be able to research on your own with the kind of focus Galen had, it would be nearly impossible for him to focus in a group dynamic. "Right." He said, letting Galen's ears turn their characteristic red. "There are other opportunities as well."

"Perhaps I will pursue them." He said, and then cocked his head at Krennic, as if contemplating something to himself.

"What?" Krennic was in no mind to keep secrets between them, Galen had been silent and reserved for the better part of the past hour and he was tired of thinking things to himself.

"What are you planning, Orson?" Galen asked slowly, "I know you have gotten offers." And it was true, of course. He had gotten a potential internship with a Senator on Coruscant to shadow him in his office in the months between terms. Another he had been in the works with was the architectural professor who had been so impressed with his designs, he was working on securing Republic grants to look further into it.

"Yes, well," He drummed his fingers on the table. "Politics and architecture. Nothing as exciting as theoretical physics, I'm afraid."

"You do not have to be modest." Krennic had to grin at that. A thing he had noticed about Galen Erso: not only was this boy incredibly honest himself, seeming almost repulsed by the idea of lying, but was able to detect the subtle lies in others. Krennic, in any other situation, would have made his offers of work almost sheepishly. Not to elevate himself to highly, let others come to the conclusion of his intelligence on their own. Not Galen. Galen, it seemed, knew him better than that in this odd semblance of a friendship. "Those are both excellent opportunities."

"I think I will most likely do architecture, it allows for more freedoms of choice and I choose my own collaborators." He watched for any change in Galen's expression, but all he gave was a short nod, as if he simply agreed that would be a good thing. It lingered at the back of his mind that there was a part of him, almost bursting at his lips, to ask Galen if he wanted to work with him. Be one of those collaborators. Possibly the only one. But the other part, the seemingly smarter part, kept him quiet for the time being. Best to secure a position for himself first, and then make it seem like a favor to him to ask Galen to join. Besides, being honest with himself, beyond their interactions in the classroom, he did not know Galen exceptionally well. He was quiet, reserved. Krennic needed a companion he could trust.

"Who do you live with Galen?" Galen blinked at him, his eyes widening.

"Lyall Reese." He said carefully, but even Galen couldn't disguise the dislike in his voice. Lyall Reese was a name Krennic knew, a boy whose father was a big name Senator from the mid-rim, who had a penchant for lawsuits and having his opponents assassinated (all disproven of course). Krennic had often seen Lyall taking up a stall in one of the refreshers on their floor when he had downed too much alcohol when it was half-price at the nearest bar. As far as Krennic could tell, the boy was useless, which seemed to be an opinion that Galen shared.

"How open would you be to considering a new arrangement?" He said, pulling his holopad from his bag with all of the agreements on it, and tossing a packet containing his former roommates card scanner onto the table between them.

Galen Erso cocked his head, and after a moment of silence between them, for only the second time that Krennic had seen, he smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you all for all the reviews and kudos! I love writing the story and I hope you all are enjoying it as well :) More to come soon, let me know what you think!

It took all of an hour to move Galen in, particularly with the help of the credits Orson had bribed a custodian with to let them borrow one of his hovercarts to move almost everything at once. When it was finished, Galen's things took up less than half of the room, with only the desk showing any sign of what Krennic knew were a whole slew of eccentricities. It was stuffed on the sides with the packs of Flimsi that Galen valued so highly, all coed in the same ink pattern that Krennic had taken a few moments to discern and memorize.

Equations: green, formulas: blue, lecture notes: purple, political and legal issues: orange. Galen's own notes were a mix of all three, with his personal insertions scrawled in black alongside the margins. The rest, not important enough to merit their own colors, were all in a light teal that was sparse on his many sheets and which Krennic had rarely seen him reference. It was all fascinating, all of the notebooks; he wondered how long Galen had worked on them all, given that he hadn't truly been in the program that long.

The rest of Galen's things were rather simple: four uniforms that were perfectly pleated and hugn in the closet. Simple bedding that was the black and white, standard issue for all of them. A single pillow that rested perfectly on top of Galen's made bed. A black rug that was half-covered with Galen's shoes and the other half with his backpack. No decorations, nothing extraordinary, though Krennic had watched him place something with exceptional care into the top drawer of his desk, shutting it quickly, his ears reddening when he noticed Krennic was looking. An innate curiosity almost took over him, and he made a mental note to ask or take a look for himself later. Galen didn't seem the type to keep secrets.

"Well, what do you think?" Krennic was proud of his half of the room, the holo-button above his bed that displayed the entirety of the Republic-controlled galaxy in a display whenever he wanted. He would show Galen later.

"This is much nicer." Galen said, and Krennic could detect, with his incredible knack for reading others, the lift of happiness in his new roommate's voice. He had stayed up the night before, his last night alone after they had gotten all of the paperwork filed away, and thought about what might change between them, in particular, what his gesture might mean to Galen. He would lying to himself if he said he didn't enjoy their quiet chats, so very different from his fast-paced social interactions with the others he called friends. High-pressure encounters with high stakes, that left his blood pumping and usually the feel of money in his pocket or the taste of alcohol on his lips. Times with Galen were different, as if the entire world was focused around them and their conversation, and yet no one could quite penetrate that guard around them. He knew that people watched their interactions, students, professors, and wondered how Orson Krennic had ever gotten Galen Erso to speak to him so openly. "Thank you, Orson."

He said it so quietly that Krennic almost missed it, but then smiled to himself, laying back on his own bed. He had realized, in his midnight thoughts, that to Galen Erso, this was probably the only extension of genuine friendship he had seen in possibly his whole life. Their lunch together, then this; two rather unextravagent gestures in Krennic's opinion, but what seemed to mean an incredible amount to this strange boy. His strange friend.

Galen sat on his bed as well and Krennic could feel his eyes on him in one of his opulent stares. "Well?" He said, and swung his leg over the side of the bed.

"Yes?" Galen answered, his legs sticking straight out off the edge of his bed.

"You're staring at me, Galen." He answered. "I figured you needed something."

"No," and Galen shook his head, "I am merely considering things."

"What are you considering?" He realized his bed was elevated slightly above Galen's, probably because he actually had a mattress pad. "Having second thoughts?"

The boy shook his head vigorously, his ears and the rest of his face turning that dark red it did when he was embarrassed to the point that Krennic almost felt bad since it seemed Galen might be afraid he would rescind his offer. "I am thinking of the nature of our relationship." Galen said, and it seemed to Krennic he had not been the only one up late considering things.

He slid off the bed, flattening out any potential rumples on his clothing and offering a hand to Galen to help him up as well. "We're friends, Galen, its fairly simple." Krennic didn't think he had ever seen a happier individual, who took his hand as he helped pull him up. "Now, let's go have some fun."

And for moment, a brief look of fear crossed the happy features of his otherwise stoic friend. But only for a moment as he decided that whatever lie beyond the now open door with Krennic was greater that what lie behind it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy, I really love writing these two. Sweet lil' Galen :3 R and R, let me know what you think!

The music was loud, his blood was pulsing in his ears, and Galen was a solid presence that seemed to shelter him form the too-drunk bodies of the rest of the crowd. He had come here often enough that the bartender didn't question the double-shots he ordered. He didn't ask Galen any questions, but Krennic couldn't tell if that was because Galen looked like a resolute adult or if it was part of his character to ignore a large amount of underage drinking.

"You don't sip it." He said, and slammed his own glass back on the bar of the club, watching Galen over the rim. "Just throw it back."

"I know how to drink." Galen had muttered at him, looking down at the amber liquid with distaste.

"If you don't want it, that's fine," Krennic said, feeling the warmth from the first two start to spread along his spine. "Hand it over." Galen looked at him like that was the worst possible scenario, and instead tossed it back into his throat, almost dropping the glass onto the clear crystal countertop. Krennic could feel himself grinning as Galen tried not to cough and sputter, so instead he grabbed his arm, pulling him into the throng. "Let's have some fun then."

There were men and women packed tight around them, seeming not to notice them for a few moments until Krennic caught the eye of a young woman who was dancing on a uninterested, possibly blitzed man. She came over to them, and before Krennic had realized it, he was with her and Galen was nowhere to be found. After the song changed, he excused himself, winking at her to show it wasn't personal. He looked for Galen, expecting to find him in a corner of the room, maybe sitting in one of the booths. Instead he was at the bar again, one empty shot on the counter, another getting ready to be poured down his throat.

"Yeah," He flagged the bartender, "Give me another one too, please." He could tell Galen hated the taste, but he could see the effects of alcohol start to come over his friend. He offered no resistance as Krennic pulled him out again to dance, this time with a small group, someone Krennic recognized letting them in. There were bodies pressed against him, he could feel his blood livening up with the pulse of the music and the flashing of the lights. And then there was Galen, who seemed almost mesmerized by the music itself, swaying with either the rhythm or acute intoxication, neither or which Krennic could be certain of. A man grabbed his hips, pulling them together, and Krennic just enjoyed the rush that comes with dancing with a stranger, that small hint of sex in the air between all of them, and he breathed it in.

Minutes in though, starting to sweat, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Orson," It was Galen, and as he turned to look at him, the pallor that had come over his olive-skinned friend's face sobered him up. "Can we leave?" There was no part of him that wanted to leave, and he thought that maybe if he hadn't been the one to drag Galen here in the first place, he might have stayed. But another part, a surprisingly large part of him, wanted to leave with Galen. Make sure he was alright. Felt a twinge of guilt that his friend had gone in too strong, too quickly in what he now realized was an attempt to keep pace with him.

"Of course." And he followed the man out of the club, the door sliding shut behind them cancelling out all of the music and dancing and sweat behind him.

"You smell like cologne." Apparently, where regular Galen Erso couldn't lie, inebriated Galen Erso couldn't lie and had no filter.

"Might have brought someone home if we stayed." Krennic said, realizing with the flush to his face that Galen wasn't the only one without a filter. "They liked you."

"I'm starting to think drunk people like most things." Galen whispered as they rounded the corner that would carry them to the lift stop.

"You feeling friendly, then?" He asked, unable to stop himself. Galen did stop, however, and turned to look at him.

"I am finding certain things more appealing." He admitted, a far more personal note than Krennic had struck throughout most of their conversations. Four days of being roommates and Galen had been incredibly quiet, following Krennic out for nighttime trips through Coruscant on occasion, others Krennic had left and he had remained quietly working at his desk while Krennic had gone back to the pulsing air of the nightclub and even one evening spent mostly in a stranger's apartment. "Sleep, for example." He whispered as the they stepped into the lift. "Terrible food, sex…" His voice trailed off, but Krennic could see the classic red working its way down from the tips of his ears to his narrow cheeks.

He grinned at his friend, more drunk than he realized, "Had your eye on someone at the club, then? By all means, we can go back and get them?" This was the first time he had seen Galen even admit to having the ordinary feelings of an eighteen-year-old, this was a moment to remember. They stepped out unevenly at their level, making their way towards home with unsteady but purposeful gaits.

Galen shook his head forcefully at the suggestion, "Nothing like that. Please," He implored, looking like he might be sick again, "Let it go." Krennic shrugged, and kept walking. "What kind of music was that?"

He hadn't been wrong then, about Galen swaying in time with the music, it hadn't just been the Cestus whiskey that had gone to his brain. "Fake mostly. Electronic. Music to make you feel alive." He leaned heavily on his friend with a laugh, and for once, Galen did not shy away from being touched unexpectedly.

"It was interesting." He agreed, as if he thought that meant roughly the same thing. To Krennic, who had to laugh at Galen's formal tone, agreed at that moment.

"Do you play or something?" they had made it back to the compound, and after several tried swipes, finally managed to get the door to open to allow them back in to begin the trek to their room.

"Six instruments." He looked up at Galen, his surprise very defined on his flushed face.

"You never told me." And to his own amusement, Galen smiled, his slightly crooked teeth looking very endearing as he looked down shyly.

"I wasn't asked." Krennic briefly wondered what else he hadn't asked Galen about, but couldn't truly formulate a lot of coherent thought at the moment. They made it into their room, and Krennic fell onto his bed, fully-clothed with his shoes on. The effects were starting to wear down a little, he hadn't truly had that much to drink, but the atmosphere had livened him up. Strangers, personalities, mingling with those people he didn't know and had no accountability to. It was all very appealing when you had a persona operating so much.

He looked over at Galen with great effort, who, with an equal amount of effort, was trying to unlace his shoes. He laughed to himself as he watched him finally manage it and fall backwards onto his neatly made bed. "Tonight was fun, Galen."

He thought for a minute that his friend was going to call him crazy, that leaving a club less than an hour after arriving because your companion was going to throw up on his shoes was not the definition of a good night. But to his surprise, Galen turned to him, his eyelids heavy with sleep even though neither of them had turned off the lights yet, and smiled his same smile again.

"Tonight was fun, Orson." He said, closing his eyes and turning away as if to actually go to sleep. But another sentence drifted back to him. "I am glad we are friends."

Krennic, for the first time in his life, was genuinely touched. Albeit, drunk genuinely, might-not-remember-in-the-morning genuinely, but touched nonetheless. He peeled off a shoe and threw it at the light monitor, casting them into darkness before sleep started to roll over him, his thoughts strangely geared towards the feel of Galen, steady behind him as he had moved in the club, unmovable and strong as he had laughed against him, Galen's nervousness at the thought of a physical relationship with someone, the thought of him playing music, swaying and moving to soft rhythms he had created. "Me, too." He said, not sure if the thought ever made it out of his dreams or not.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading! Couldn't resist adding this bit with Galen and the children! R and R, hope you all enjoy!

He was down in the research facilities, looking for something or someone interesting. He knew Galen, since the start of term, had been spending almost all of his free time in this basement, among the whirring machines and energy compactors and hologram monitors. Normally it was easy to find him, wearing a pair of eccentric looking goggles while he almost maniacally worked over a energy converter with a small bit of kyber they had been given for research purposes after his trips to Ilum the year previous. To Krennic, as he had come to know more and more of Galen's behavior patterns, found the typical state of his friend to be both endearing and hilarious. Galen's fringe hanging over a pair of eccentric goggles, his lips flicking up and down as he watched a crystal for hours at a time, his pen swirling in different colors, humming a small classical tune whenever he was working and his mind was focused on other things.

" _You chew your pen." Galen had told him one day, watching him over the top of the compactor. "And you aren't wearing the proper eyewear."_

" _Yes, I have interests in not looking like a complete crackpot." He had said, hurriedly taking his pen out of his mouth. He couldn't see Galen's eyes for the dark glasses, but assumed that he was giving him the same emotionless stare that he always did, his lips pressed into a thin line._

" _You still chew your pen." He was starting to wonder if Galen being comfortable enough with him to make snide comebacks was worth their friendship._

" _Yes, well, you hum Murdoch's 5_ _th_ _Symphony whenever you look at a glowing rock." He had set his notebook down and returned Galen's glare, noting his roommate's ears turning their characteristic red in the clear glow. "I'll stick with the mild choking risk."_

Today, however, he had no such luck in finding Galen, or the professor with which he planned to continue his own architectural planning. Instead, he could hear a loud mumbling beyond the wide doors that kept the lab under the constraints that it needed. He decided to ignore it, looking around for Galen, since he wasn't the type to be involved in whatever commotion was happening beyond the door.

He had just grabbed the New Volume of Republic Construction Projects and sat on his usual stool when the doors opened. Galen was on the other side, his hair sticking out over the cover of his glasses. He saw what Krennic wagered was a very startled gaze that grew into an uncomfortable, turned-head stare as behind Galen came a parade of small Senators children.

"I am in charge of these children for a few moments." They spilled all over the research area, their small, sticky hands touching everything that wasn't above their sight line.

"Really?" Krennic said, looking behind him, but no adult came. He knew it wasn't uncommon for small children of important investors to come to the school that they would attend as children of privilege one day, but he typically made certain to steer his personal calendar away from such days. He had never liked children, and he played that to the fact that he had really never been around them: no siblings, two parents that did not interact with their siblings either. He had not particularly enjoyed his classmates as a small child, they had always been too unpredictable and always terribly sticky.

So now, he was in his own personal hell. They were milling around him like fish in a pond, so he simply folded his hands together and laid them over his book, taking controlled breaths. He saw Galen take his usual seat across from him. "You are in charge of children? Who forced this on you?"

"I volunteered." He said, and Krennic could detect the slightest note of smugness in Galen's voice. As he had gotten used to Galen's speech patterns and thoughts and subtle actions, it was easier for him to detect those subtle changes. But now, it was just infuriating to listen to Galen when he was also twitching at a loud crash at the back of the laboratory that he was certain a sniveling child had caused.

"You…"But before he could voice his almost outrage, he felt a small pat on his knee. He looked down from his stool to see a little girl, with thick-woven black hair, her skin a dark brown that matched the color of her eyes. She had been smiling at him, but one gaze at the look on his face, and she stepped back, and instead, ran over to Galen.

Galen, who Orson had never seen be voluntarily touched. Galen, who rarely had more than ten words to say. Galen, who was usually the picture of stoicism and a silent force, wrapped an arm around this little girl as she buried her face in his coat. As Krennic watched, he picked her up with a gentle smile, setting her one the desk where she could see his face. "I like your glasses." She said and laughed, reaching out what Krennic knew had to be a sticky hand to touch the lens of his glasses. He internally cringed, but again to his eternal surprise, Galen smiled his slightly crooked-tooth smile in genuine happiness.

"They are special glasses." He said, and reached down to rummage in a drawer. "Here you go." And Krennic watched, slack-jawed as Galen pulled them over her ears, she was giggling hard at him.

"Would you like some glasses, Orson?" He said, and the little girl turned, stopping her giggling as she saw Krennic. She shook her head at Galen, leaning forward to whisper something which Krennic couldn't hear over the roar of the other children behind him.

"No." He heard Galen whisper back. "Orson is not mean. Orson is a friend." Krennic knew he should have felt guilt that this small girl thought he was mean, but instead he just felt consternation that Galen had to defend him to such an insignificant figure. Then there were two pairs of odd glasses looking at him, and a little girl who giggled now at what he knew would be an angry flush across his face.

Finally, before Galen could suggest that he put the glasses on again, the head administrator and what must be the teacher of this class came through the doors, a look of excitement on the administrator's face in introducing potential new high-paying students and potential donor parents. "It seems the children have been enjoying the research facilities." The administrator had a booming voice, sweeping his arms out. The children began to swarm back to their teacher, the little girl climbing down off the desk, her classmates chattering over her new glasses.

"And I see they've met some of our finest students!" Krennic was absolutely sure that the head administrator knew neither of their names, none of their grades, achievements. Nothing of Galen's research, of his grant securing. But the man was paid to sell the school, which included its students, and especially the two who sat in front of him. "Working on research themselves, it seems. Only the best opportunities for our students." And after a few moments, their teacher led them from the lab, and Krennic closed his eyes.

When he finally reopened them, blissful quiet replacing the surges of noise, Galen had pulled up the glasses into his hair, and was staring at him, his face expressionless. "What?" He said, perhaps far more harshly than he intended.

"I did not realize your animosity towards children."

"I didn't realize you liked them so well." He snapped back at him, standing up. If it had been weeks ago, Galen would have been wounded by his harsh words, but now, his friend pulled his glasses back down over his eyes with an amused smile.

"It isn't funny, Galen." He said, and turned to leave in a flourish, all hope of being able to focus forgotten.

"Of course not." He couldn't keep the amused tone from his voice, especially not as Krennic started to brush at the new sticky spot that had formed on his knee.

 


	8. Chapter 8

"You should sit with us, today." Krennic was putting the final crease in his collar, curving it up to the shape of his neck. "We'll all be in the dining hall regardless."

Galen was sitting at his desk, scrolling through an article on his data pad in an almost blur as he absorbed the information in front of him. "I do not think that is a good idea."

"Why is that?" Krennic turned to him, knowing good and well why that might not be a good idea. But he was also of the opinion that Galen spent too much time in their room, in the labs, in the library, and not near enough networking properly. "You need to start forming connections, Galen, unless you want to spend your life as a starving scientist with a lot of credentials and no money."

His turned his gaze on his friend, who was doing his best to look expressionless, and to any other person, might have looked that way. But his red-tipped ears said otherwise to Krennic, who smirked a bit at him. "That will not happen."

"Fine." Krennic said, pushing the door open, "Come join us whenever you get hungry then."

And he left to join his group in the dining area. Since they had returned from break two months before to find Galen as Krennic's new roommate, he could feel the obligatory questions almost leaking off of them, especially when they would see them together. Krennic shielded them easily, most of the people around him were intelligent but not smart enough to cause problems, they had the power connections, the money connections, the stability that he knew he would need someday to mount his success. But he was starting to realize that the conversations he had with them never dipped below the surface, unlike those he had with Galen. They fawned over him, a couple of them even saying what an upstanding person he was for trying to spend so much time with one of the scholarship students. The comment twisted his stomach, and he could feel his face twitching with almost perfectly disguised anger.

But sat through lunch with them the same, actually listening to one girl's conversation about particle theory that was compelling, but mostly flashing fake smiles at the right moment's, giving people laughs that boosted their confidence and drew them further into him. It was game, and he was the main player. But his eyes almost betrayed him, kept flickering to the extra, empty seat he had pulled up for Galen. Until the chrono moved over to show that there were only ten minutes to his next class and he had to leave.

And so he did, determined to speak to Galen in their Static Particle Theory class, but when he arrived, his roommate was conspicuously absent from his usual seat at the back of the room. He sat at their joint desk, chewing the back of his stylus waiting on a boy who never showed up. He took notes, but even to him, the notes he wrote meant little to him, something to go over later, not something he could focus on now. And such things continued, when he made it through pre-Republic architecture, thermodynamics, space charting and there was still no sign of Galen. Not in the hallways, where he usually saw him scurrying in or out of the research areas with his bag slung haphazardly and his glasses still occasionally on his face.

He didn't see him at dinner, not even in the small, two-person booth he usually sat at in the back with a data pad and impassive demeanor.

"Are you alright, Krennic?" One of his friends had asked, and he had blinked at them, confused, before he realized what he had even said. He had nodded his head, but didn't speak much through dinner, choosing instead to let another, seemingly ambitious acquaintance dominate the conversation. Two months into their second term of their second year, and he could almost feel the gratitude radiating off of him, to the point that it was almost sad.

It wasn't long before he put the unfinished food in the trash, bidding them all a goodnight with a simple nod that was returned with waves. He went back to his room, practically feeling himself marching. Where in the hell was Galen? He had never missed class. Ever. Not even when he had been puking two weeks into term and managed to ruin not only his own bedsheets, but a pair of Krennic's shoes. He had still dragged himself to class, excusing himself to vomit no less than three times during lecture.

The door slid open, but the room was dark. No outline of Galen on the bed. He almost turned to leave, to go down to the research center, but then he saw the faint light coming from the refresher they shared on the far side of the room. "Galen?" He called, stepping in and turning on the overhead light.

He could smell the strong smell of liquor now, invading his nostrils, and quickly shut the door behind him. He walked to the bathroom, banging a fist on the durasheet. "Galen?" But the only response was a faint noise from within. He pushed the door open, it wasn't locked, but stopped at the sight in front of him. The smell, unlike the whiskey that Krennic himself favored and kept in his shoes, was vodka, nearly half a bottle gone and the container held suspended in Galen's fingers that lolled on the rug.

His eyes were closed, his dark hair had the ends wet with sweat, plastered to his forehead. His uniform, normally almost as pristine as Krennic's, was unbuttoned, KRennic suspected because he had gotten to hot. "Galen?" He said, for a moment worried that his roommate was dead.

But his friend's head rolled to the side to look at him, and now KRennic could see that his eyes were red and swollen. He had been crying, sobbing actually it seemed like, but now his face was back to it usual expressionless demeanor, albeit a drunk sort of expressionless, with unfocused eyes.

"Galen, what the hell?" He stepped into the bathroom, taking the vodka away and setting it on the sink, noticing Galen's comm sitting on the rug next to him. "Get up." He said, pulling on his arm. Galen didn't move. "Galen, get up." But nothing but the small groan, his eyes shutting again.

He started to pull him, his friend not only larger than he was, but almost completely dead weight. "Leave…leave me..." He heard Galen finally slur into his ear. "Orson…leave." But he kept pulling, eventually getting him to his feet. He grabbed his shoulders, turning his head to face him.

"Galen, what happened?" No answer. "What happened?" But his head lolled. "Galen." It was no use, whatever had happened, Galen was not going to be able to tell him at the moment. He started to pull him into their room, where he could lay him on his side on the bed, where he could pass out and not hurt himself.

"No." His friend tried to pull back, barely raising his voice, but eventually he complied, falling down onto the bed. Krennic propped him up on his pillow, going back to the refresher to straighten the rug, get the vodka. He looked down, reaching to close a fist over the standard issue comlink. To be honest, he hadn't even known Galen had a comlink, he had never seen him make or receive any communications on it in the long in the time they had lived together, knowing that he usually choose to answer messages through his datapad in words. But there it was, proof that Galen did have some sort of connection to the outside world after all.

He looked over at Galen, now half-asleep but mumbling to himself, angled so that if he threw up, it would end up in the garbage and not clog his throat. He knew he shouldn't look at the communications, that they were Galen's business. But since he had just carried him from their refresher floor to bed, heavy with alcohol, he thought it might be in his rights.

He thumbed through it, minimal contacts even listed. The scholarship, the school line, a contact listed simply as N. Erso. That was it. But there, also, was a message that was saved to the system. He sat on his bed, watching his friends face to see if he would wake up before he pressed the button to listen.

* * *

He blinked awake, right as light began to filter in through their small window. He was still sitting fully-clothed on the bed, and as he woke, the night came rushing back to him. Galen gone missing, the alcohol, the bathroom, the comlink. He sat up, his neck sore from leaning against the wall all night. He stretched, kicking off the shoes that he still wore, all before realizing that Galen's dark eyes were staring at him from across the room.

"You brought me in here." His voice was barely more than a rough whisper, and Krennic knew that his friend was in for one hell of a weekend morning.

"It was better than letting you die in the 'fresher." Krennic answered, rubbing his head.

"Did you listen to my message?" Krennic looked down at his bed, realizing that the comlink he had meant to return to the rug was lying on top of his blankets. He debated for a moment, whether or not to lie, but Galen would see through him.

"Yes." He said. "I'm sorry, Galen."

"It's okay." He answered, and Krennic watched his friends eyes close, even as he leaned forward to peel of his shirt, determined to go back to sleep soon. "You were curious." But he could hear the raw pain in Galen's voice. Not at Krennic having listened to his message, but in general. He was hurting.

"I shouldn't have done it." Krennic offered, but he could see silent tears rolling down Galen's worn face. "Are you going back for the funeral?"

"She would want me to stay here." He said resolutely. "And it is expensive to fly on short notice." He added, letting out a choked sigh that kept a sob at bay. "She is my family. I have not seen her in almost a year."

"It's alright, Galen." He thought briefly of his own family, and realized that while he felt sympathy for his friend, he couldn't empathize. He couldn't see himself making the trip to Lexrule if his mother passed, she wasn't that kind of woman and Krennic was starting to realize he wasn't becoming that kind of man.

"No." Galen said, and shook his head. "But I am sorry you found me like you did. I was not expecting the call."

"What happened?" Krennic asked, and despite his best effort, could feel his body starting to fully wake. He still reached for his sleep tunic in the vain hope he might get to use it.

"It came through a few minutes after you left. I didn't know what to do, I wanted to forget." That explained the vodka well enough to Krennic. "I started drinking and I just kept listening to it. I kept drinking until I couldn't hear it anymore and I couldn't remember what her face looked like."

Krennic was struck with the raw honesty of that. This was a Galen Erso that was giving him full self to the conversation. He had never lied, but there was difference in not lying outright and not offering up the whole truth. "Then I found you."

"Yes." Krennic slid off the bed, and, without real knowledge or provocation, sat down beside Galen on his. The tears were fresh, he smelled strongly of day-old alcohol and dried sweat. He needed a shower and help and to see someone who could no longer be seen. "I'll go with you, Galen. My father could send us a transport and we could be there this evening." He wasn't sure what made him offer it, and he had to look away from the look of both enormous vulnerability and gratitude that came across Galen's face.

Galen started to speak, but couldn't form words. Krennic nodded, reaching into his pocket. "It could be here in a couple of hours. We could shower, grab breakfast, and go."

"Orson, I cannot ask that of you. It is a lot of money…and time…"

"You aren't asking, I'm offering." Why he was offering was a mystery to him, but as he sat this close to Galen, he could feel that this was right. Comforting his friend, making him happy. "You're my best friend, Galen, let me help you."

Galen looked at him, unable to hide the pain still present in his gaze, but also unable to mask the care that mingled with it now. "I will go shower then." He sat up, facing Orson but looking down at the bed. "You're my best friend, Orson." He said, slowly, as if he had practiced the words. So much like their first conversations. "Someday, I will make this up to you. I promise."

And he stood, leaving Krennic to sit, staring at the bathroom door closing behind him. His heart was soaring, and his mind was whirring. He moved back to his own bed. Why did he care so much about Galen Erso? Why had it meant so much to hear him say he was his best friend as well? He had always prided himself on being above petty attachments. Trivial matters. This did not feel petty. Galen was not trivial. He laid down, pulling up the blanket as he heard the water start pumping, a few muffled sobs coming from the bathroom. He, Orson Krennic, had just offered a large chunk of his time and money and efforts to help a poor boy sobbing in their joint shower. Never, not once in the rest of his life, would he have ever thought that pertinent. There was no gain in this for him, why had he done this?

And yet, as he clicked in the order for the transport, he couldn't help but feel as if he had told himself wrong. There was something, not quite tangible, a benefit he couldn't see or touch or taste or hear. Only one he could feel, welling up in his chest before he closed his eyes and sleep crashed over him like wave.


	9. Chapter 9

He sat quietly, his legs folded in front of him, wearing a black suit that gleamed brighter than anything he had seen since they arrived on the planet. It made him look, and feel, out of place here, where for once, Galen might have fit in easier. Except not.

His friend sat next to him, retreating into himself, his shoulders pulled tight, stretching the cloth of the outdated dark suit that he wore. Krennic had fallen asleep in the silence of the ship, and when he had woken, blinking away his disorientation, Galen had been already dressed across from him. He had been looking away, at nothing, but Krennic had seen the path of the tear that had run down his face. He was hurting, and despite his almost impassive demeanor, he was hurting now.

They had landed in the largest city on Grange, which was little more than a market. A landing platform big enough for two ships, a small market where there had been the very old and the very young had been selling what he assumed was extra crop yields and baby clothes he had seen draped over tent hangings. There had been an equipment store, with the aisles of new, gleaming farm equipment practically empty and the used section of rusted parts and faulty transmitters teeming with young people and parents who he had seen trying to keep them off the machines. Krennic had never seen so few people in a capital city, so little space. He had felt out of place, and, from the looks they were garnering form those who watched them fly in, they indeed were out of place.

That sentiment had not changed when they had arrived at the service. While the large population and limited land of Lexrule nearly mandated cremations, the same was not true for Grange. When they had come in, Galen's mother's body had been lying on a palette of woven grasses that Krennic could see stretched for the enormous spaces between the dotted lights that indicated the homesteads in the dark grey shade that seemed to hang over the entire planet except for when the brilliant sun pushed around the clouds, strong enough to sunburn someone like him rather quickly if he wasn't careful.

From the way people were acting around them, Galen was not exhibiting the usual behavior. Krennic watched as people, young, old, and in-between came up to the body, whispered short phrases and words moved their hands in gestures that he did not understand but could realize the significance of. Then, almost inevitably, their eyes would trail to Galen in the front row. Galen, who was no longer crying, and could not help but cringe away from the touch of people who it seemed had not seen him seen well before he had left all of this behind for Brentaal.

But, even though Krennic could see the confusion and even contempt written on some of their faces as they took him in, sitting in silence, Galen did not react. In fact, when a man grasped his shoulders in what Krennic knew was a gesture of comfort, he felt his friend press into his side, looking for safety and comfort in a place he might actually find it. This realization scared him. Perhaps more than anything up to that point, that he, a person who typically prided himself on being able to keep his distance from people, had become someone's comfort was almost beyond him. But he didn't move away, he spared a look at Galen, at the man who had caused him to move so suddenly in the first place, and then looked forward, watching as the rest of the tem milled by, Galen's presence never leaving his side.

They had still been sitting when the other farmers and their family had dispersed. They were sitting when night had come to this planet, and they were let along in the lingering darkness beyond the walls of the burial parlor. Only then had Galen moved. Krennic had sat completely still, watching him as he walked up to the woven palette and stood there in silence.

Krennic sat there, watching him, an impending sense of panic swelling in his chest for reasons he couldn't define. And then he watched as Galen faltered, his knees seeming to collapse under his weight as he fell to the ground his forehead pressed into the grass. He was shaking, forcefully, but no noise was coming out of him.

He was frozen for a moment, briefly looking around to see if anyone else was there, if some mysterious force was acting on Galen. But there was nothing. Only a heaviness in the air that was now thick with grief. Pain. Loss. It was starting to overwhelm him, and he had to stand, but for once he had no words.

His dress shoes tapping against the floor broke the silence and he moved to stand next to Galen who didn't move. He wasn't crying, in fact it was as though the shaking he was doing was entirely to try and repress the tears that were pushing at his eyes which he had shut tight. Krennic reached out and wrapped a hand over the curve of his shoulder, standing with him in silence.

He spared a glance at Galen's mother, dressed in what he assumed were her nicest clothes. They matched the level of nicety of Galen's, which were worn to the point of being almost ragged. Her face was lined with wrikles, exposure from working long days in the sun and rain and snow that he knew Grange was kin to. Her hair, what hadn't turned iron-gray was the same light brown as Galen's and framed a face that seemed stern, even in death, but at the same time was decorated with laugh lines by her eyes. Her hands, folded over her funeral dress, were weathered with work and age, no amount of funeral cleaning ever to remove all the bits of topsoil that had settled in her knuckles. But he could see they were soft. Kind hands that seemed to belong to a woman who had given everything to the boy who was on the ground beside him, both of them almost men.

Krennic wondered briefly if this woman would have enjoyed that her son was starting to spend so much time with him. Galen had scarcely mentioned her except when Krennic asked a direct question, and he was elusive in those as well. "I'm sorry, Galen." He half-whispered, and didn't move as Galen placed his opposite hand over Krennic's on his shoulder. He stayed like that for a moment, then his eyes reopened, and he stood. Level again with his friend.

His hand moved back, and Krennic watched, not understanding the odd language that he spoke which must be the source of the accent he had heard from most everyone who had attended the service, and moved his hands in the gesture he had seen so many perform. His hands moved from his mouth, to his heart, and then, in something that no one else had done, he touched that same hand to hers, curling his own fingers around hers.

"I am ready to go." He said, his voice heavy, but not in the same way. He turned to Krennic, as if almost daring him to say something else, to ask if he was sure, or say he might want to spend more time. Krennic knew better, and instead, just nodded in silence as they left the building and went back to the ship, the city closed down except for the run lights that dotted the landing platform and the elderly security guard who waved a wrinkled hand at them as the climbed back on board.

Days later, and Krennic was sitting on his bed. In front of him was a massive sheet of flimsi, large enough to allow him to make all the proper curves and additions to the design that he needed to fill the page with. It was one in a series of projects he was designing for the purpose of summer research: shortly after his and Galen's exhausting return from Grange, he had received the news that his grant had been approved and he would be the youngest Republic Architect that had ever been hired. He was to design his own projects, choose other students to assist him with the design and development, and submit official designs for proposal at the end of the long break between terms. He knew better than to wait until then, and his mind was already filled with small building designs, most of which could be implemented on Brentaal at minimal cost to the Futures Program. A small price to pay to have state of the art facilities and the ability to brag that students at the school had completely designed the buildings on their own.

But these plans were becoming almost trivial to him. He wanted to design something large, something that would truly make a mark on the galaxy. As a person who understood the importance of climbing ladders, he knew this was a necessary step; but an exasperating one all the same. He was limited in scope, despite the fact that his fingers itched to draw things of a larger and larger scale, to define whole cities rather just buildings, to construct massive projects rather than the small ones that his grant guaranteed. But he would work with it, come to a consensus with whomever he chose to work with him, and when the time came, he would move on to larger things.

He moved over the page, smearing black ink on the sides of his hands, and filled in the boxes he had drawn with the numbers that would make it possible. He was so focused, so intent that he didn't notice when Galen came in the door and set his things down as he started to work at the desk. He didn't notice, in fact, until Galen spoke to him, "What are you working on?" He was startled enough that he dropped his pencil, letting the point snap against the paper in his surprise, but otherwise not showing it.

It was the first time Galen had initiated a conversation between them since they had returned from Grange. He blinked over at him, where he sat impassively at the desk, with pages of physics spread in front of him. "Projects for the end of term." He answered, and slid off the bed, stretching muscles he hadn't realized were tensing. Galen stood as well, matching his stance, leaning back on his bed. "Have you decided to work with Coburn?"

He could feel the tension that was always between then now. Other than that initial conversation, before they had ever gone to Grange, Galen had said nothing to him about it. Krennic couldn't help but feel that his friend was holding back, that he wasn't saying something that he needed to say.

"I have been offered a place working in crystallography instead." He answered. "I will be here between terms."

"I'll be here as well." Krennic said, and could feel that slight of relief in his chest, that feeling of knowing Galen would be here. An odd feeling, to be sure, but not a bad one.

"I know." Galen said, and there it was again. That slight feeling that Galen was off-kilter. As if he was holding his tongue when he wanted to speak something strong.

He was about to ask, unable to deal with the suspense any longer, but Galen cut him off. "Orson," He said, his voice thick with some emotion. "I have been thinking of what to say." His ears turned their typical red, spreading down from his ears to his face.

"About what, exactly?" He could sense the pauses in Galen's words. The encouragement that he needed.

"I never thanked you properly." He said, and his gaze fell from Krennic's. "I was able to go home because of you." He put his hand over his lips. "I did not know what to say."

"It's fine, Galen." And it was, truly. Beyond that initial level of mystery to himself as to why he had done it, taking Galen to Grange had been fine. Emotional, yes. Affecting of his sleep schedule, yes. But fine just the same. In fact, there was some small part of him that was happy he had been able to help.

"It was too much," He was looking at him again. "Too Expensive. Your time. There was too much happening, Orson." His eyes were staring at him, his eyes spread wide with confusion and almost worry.

"Galen," He leaned up, and reached out a hand to rest it on Galen's shoulders. "It was fine." Galen didn't look as if he believed him, but Krennic gave what he knew was a reassuring smile that seemed to settle the worry. "And we're back now."

"Yes," Galen said, and nodded, Krennic still amazed he hadn't shrugged his hand off of his shoulder. "And I will make it up to you."

Krennic didn't say anything, knowing better than to deny it, or say that Galen didn't have too, because somewhere in his mind, Galen would have to in order for things to be right again. There was nothing, then, that he could say to change that fact. He moved his hand off Galen's shoulder, down to his bicep, and gave it a slight, reassuring squeeze.

Galen looked almost on the verge of tears again, and Krennic pulled him into a hug. For moment, nothing happened, and he almost let go, before Galen's arms came around him as well. He patted him on the back, letting the warmth of him hold him in place before he pulled back. The look of sadness was gone, replaced by something else in Galen's eyes, undercut by a small smile that Krennic mirrored.


	10. Chapter 10

Krennic opened his eyes, sitting up in his bed. He was breathing hard, and could feel the sweat in a sheen over his body. The room was still dark, and a glance at the chrono told him that it was still a couple of hours before he and Galen were due to wake to get ready for class. He could feel the flush of his features, and looked over to see Galen turned away from him, deep in sleep.

He let out another breath, running his hands over his face with a long breath in an effort to get his body to calm down and allow him to go back to sleep. He felt his face redden, as reminders of the dream that had woken him in this state came back into his mind.

It had been mostly images, physical feelings that mirrored those from reality, things that he had not known his brain would dare to imagine while awake. He was struck by the almost pure feelings that had been behind it, strong feelings that again he would never dare to show and could never remember allowing himself to think beforehand.

_Galen had looked at him as he had stepped into the research lab, his face obscured by those glasses he always insisted on wearing. But he had smiled, the melancholy look that Krennic was used to seeing on his features gone. "Hello," He said, and climbed down off of his stool. In a feeling that felt like a mirror from their earlier embrace, only this time without the lingering of guilt or sadness, Galen wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. "Come see what I've finished." He said, pulling back to look Krennic in the eye through his glasses, keeping their bodies pressed together with his arm until he pulled back to pull him along._

" _It's incredible." He heard himself say, though in his mind, he was not looking at the work in front of them and he knew it. He was looking at Galen, who's face twitched with the praise, his hands moving to pull the goggles off. He smiled that shy smile of genuine happiness, and Krennic knew what he was going to do before he ever did it. He put a hand up to Galen's face, tracing the sharp cut of his cheekbone for a moment before that small smile and happy eyes turned to him and they leaned in together for a kiss that exploded something deep within him. There was no resistance from Galen, who pull him in closer, deepening the kiss until Krennic pulled back, breathing hard, turning them suddenly to press Galen back against the table, kissing him again. And again and again until he could feel weathered hands pulling at his uniform and the beginning of a whispered phrase that had been so shocking the scene had stopped._

And now he was awake, letting a hand drift over his lips at the thought of a memory that wasn't real. Why had this happened? He looked again at Galen, still sleeping, and quickly turned away himself to face the wall. He had not seen this coming. To be sure, he had many indiscriminate partners in his time here: men, women, it didn't matter. He had even had dreams like this about faceless people, phantom touches, but never with that level of emotion that he had felt. Never enough to make him wake feeling slightly guilty but also as if he had just one some grand prize or promotion, enough to leave his face flushed, still aroused with the thought of where that dream might have been headed, but also a deep worry that Galen might notice something, and an unanswered question of when this all had started.

He pulled his blanket up over his head, letting his heart rate slow down and let the world dissolve again into dreams as he closed his eyes.

The next morning, when he woke, Galen was already gone. He had taken to rising early and going to lab when sleep did not come easy to him, and Krennic was almost relieved he wasn't in there. But that didn't stop him from being in Statics later that morning.

"Good morning." He said, as Krennic sat down, his datapad lit up with details of the reading from the night before.

"Morning." Krennic said, but even to him the word sounded odd. Was that all he was going to say? But what else should he say? Absolutely nothing, because that of course, was what Galen knew about all of this. To Galen, he was the same person he had been the day before, and that was how it had to remain. For Krennic's sake, perhaps more than Galen. As time wore on, he was starting to see more and more potential in Galen, buried under a façade that he didn't think his friend even knew was putting on. They could do great things together.

At that thought, his face flushed again, and he pressed his stylus to his lips. "Are you alright?" But he was spared answering by the professor's arrival and instead pretended to concentrate on what he was supposed to be learning that day. But his mind wondered, a rare experience for him, and it strayed right to the man he wished it wouldn't, who kept flicking and changing the colors of his pen so quickly that it seemed like part of the lecture.

What he had been about to say to him? In his mind, he knew what it was, but now that he was awake and he and Galen were engaged in no such activities, it all seemed very distant. He tried to think of the last time he had told someone that, and he thought that it might have been to an elderly woman with gnarled hands who also pressed down on his head and flattened his hair and offered him small bits of his favorite sugar candy in order to pacify him while she kept the home she occupied on Lexrule spotless. He had said it to her, he remembered, right before he had started his regular schooling, and he had known then that he hadn't meant it, but it had garnered him an extra cookie to take home after a pair of leathery lips had planted a kiss on his cheek. He hadn't meant it then, and he couldn't imagine saying it to anyone now.

But his gaze slipped to Galen, who was concentrating hard beside him, his lips flicking up and down at what the professor said as his hand moved almost as fast as his mind recording lecture notes. And he gave himself a brief second to imagine saying it before he physically shook his head and didn't allow himself to finish the thought.

The end bell came far too slowly for him, and he stood in a flourish to pack his bags, realizing he hadn't actually taken any notes. "Would you like to get lunch?" He heard Galen say, right as he was ready to make his escape. When he looked up, Galen's dark eyes looked almost fearful, but Krennic couldn't help the small leap of happiness that was tempered with the slightest twinge of fear. "If you have plans, we could eat some other time." He added after a moment of silence.

"Let's eat." Krennic said, "Sorry, I was a bit distracted." Galen cocked his head at him, offering up a small smile that seemed more and more common, Krennic realized, as they spent more and more time together. That thought again made him happy, with his characteristic red blush climbing up his neck that he quickly tried to cover with his hand. Galen was comfortable around him, not something he could say for any other person in this program. It was endearing, really. And would have given him a sort of morbid satisfaction that he had Galen Erso, obvious genius, to basically himself if he hadn't bene so damn afraid of his own feelings.

Feelings, he realized, that might get in the way.

"Do you think you could explain that last concept to me, Galen? I missed the notes." He friend nodded dutifully, and to Krennic's relief stopped looking at him as they walked to instead start running figures through his head.


	11. Chapter 11

Galen had a problem. Not the type of problem he usually encountered, where his head was able to work through figures with ease and without trepidation. No, this was a different sort of problem altogether, one he had never before encountered and had not forseen.

He let out a sigh, pressing his head forward into his hands as he sat at his desk. He had been looking at this problem set for the better part of the last hour, but for once in his life, he had found himself unable to concentrate. He knew what it was. It was becoming more and more obvious the longer he thought through it and the more times it reared its head when he was alone, the more powerless he was against it.

At least Orson was gone for the evening. Since their trip to Grange almost seven standard days before, and their very strange lunch four days before when Orson had barely spoken and had listened even less, Orson had behaved very oddly. Galen frowned to himself at the thought that Orson might have been avoiding him, ducking out of the room at odd times when Galen would be there; waking early and leaving with only a short word or phrase, sitting next to him in class but almost going out of his way to not speak to him. Galen was worried that he might have done something to bother him, but in all truth, having a little space between Orson and himself might be for the best. Orson was the source of his problem.

He had realized something the week before. When his normal inhibitions had been tempered by the blur of the vodka he had nearly drowned himself with, his whole self aching for some sort of affection, Orson had been there. Had helped him. Had cared. His face, always calm, had been fraught with worry that Galen could see etched into his normally smooth features. He reached a hand to his shoulder, the feeling of Orson's fingers pressing against him as he kneeled by his mother's side still lingering in his thoughts. This was the problem. Orson was the problem.

He was occupying his thoughts far more than any typical friend should. Not that Galen considered himself to have a lot of experience in the area of friendship, in fact, he would consider himself a novice at it. He had always preferred the quiet that isolation offered, a quiet that was now filled with thoughts that he should not have been having. Thoughts that made him smile involuntarily with the feeling of genuine happiness that stemmed from, or other thoughts that had him blushing and glancing around, wondering if others could see what he was thinking. All of these thoughts, innocent or not as they were, revolved around his roommate, for whom he knew he had a growing affection.

He had tried to lend it to their simple proximity, living in the same room he was bound to get closer to Orson. But he had noticed a change in himself, his behaviors were very peculiar, even to him. The quiet did not offer the same peace it always had, he found his thoughts wondering to what Orson was doing or thinking as opposed to the problems at hand. He had begun talking more, wanting to know what his friend was doing, his thoughts and cares, his simple movements throughout his day. He had begun spending less time on crystallography and more time reading architecture texts so that he could have complex conversations and watch Orson's face light up and hear his accent thicken as he started to talk about a subject he was fully invested in. It was almost frightening, these changes.

And another he had noticed, almost subtle but one he caught himself doing with greater and greater frequency. His caught himself watching Orson's lips, his fingers, his eyes as he talked and spoke and took notes during class. He would catch himself with his eyes fixed on Orson chewing on his pen, twisting the end between his teeth or tapping it against his lips. The whole situation played into the thoughts that his brain conjured up when he would let it. How it might feel to run the pad of his thumb over Orson's lips, or feel his hands with their almost abnormally large fingers run through his hair, how a simple kiss to his lips might taste, might feel against his own. He shook his head, letting his hair fall into his eyes. He could feel his ears heating up with their usual blush at those sort of thoughts and knew that if Orson was there, he would have noticed. He didn't know where Orson was, and he looked up, hearing the faint sounds of loud music coming from the room above him.

He stood right as the door opened and he was face to face with his grinning roommate. Given what he had just been thinking, his blush attacked his face, but if Orson noticed, he didn't mention it as he held Galen's gaze and slowly grinned. It took a few seconds, but Galen realized that the far-off look in his roommate's eyes and the slight stumble as he slid the door shut was the product of a lot of alcohol.

"Galen!" He said, and sounded the happiest to see him that he had all week.

"Hello." Galen said, taking in Orson's appearance. He didn't have the impeccable ability to read people that his roommate based his social interactions on, but there were many things happening that were obvious, even to him. "Have you had a good evening?"

Orson laughed, his full laugh that had him covering his mouth to keep form looking what he would consider foolish. Galen couldn't help but smile, the laughter too happy to ignore. But as he looked over his roommate, he couldn't help but feel a pang of something else. His clothes were loosed, as if they had been pulled back on recently. When his arm moved back away, a large red mark was appearing on the side of his neck, common evidence of Orson's nocturnal carousing of which he was so fond.

"How was yours?" Krennic stepped in what Galen supposed was supposed to be a graceful manner, bit it wasn't, getting another self-directed laugh from Orson before he opened his eyes wide and looked at Galen.

"It was fine. I was working on statics work."

"Galen." Orson said. "Galen, Galen, Galen." And then he was laughing again, laying back on the bed, his upper body sprawled.

"Yes?" He asked, covering his own mouth with his hands as he smiled broadly. One thing he had noticed after coming here, all of the children who came to this school, Orson Krennic included, had perfectly straight teeth. His were not, but other than the occasional scoffing comment from people he did not know, no one had brought it up. Including Orson, who he thought might actually enjoy that Galen was not a carbon copy of everyone else, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"What are we, Galen?" He said, and suddenly there were two large blue eyes looking at him through a mass of elongating curly hair. After a moment of silence, he smiled, "Hmmm?"

Galen wasn't sure what to say. He could feel his ears betraying him again, but was determined not to give evidence of what he was realizing were deep-rooted feelings. "We are friends, of course." His mind was filled with what he knew were inappropriate and terribly timed thoughts, but he couldn't help them as they rushed into his brain.

To his surprise, Orson frowned at him, and sat up, shaking his head at the sudden rush of motion. "Is that all?" He asked, and slid of the bed.

"We're also roommates," Galen said slowly, as Orson moved towards him, seeming to be almost sizing him up with his eyes that were too clear to betray his inebriation. "You're my best friend." Galen added after a long moment of silence, and Krennic smiled the half-smile that meant for sure he was happy but also hiding something he was thinking.

Galen stood completely still as Orson leaned onto him unexpectedly, the love bite he had gotten from a stranger at the club he frequented hidden from Galen's view as he pressed his head to Galen's chest, his hands on his shoulders as he laughed. "Am I?" Orson said. He mumbled something under his breath that had Galen blushing, a question on his lips that he didn't ask. Instead, he resisted the urge to pull Orson closer, to turn his intoxicated friend leaning on him for support into an embrace that might mean there really was something between them. Instead, he enjoyed the feeling of Orson's fingers pulling the fabric on his shoulder into a bunch in his fist, the feeling of him laughing into his chest, leaning further into him as he started to come down from his drunk high and grew more and more tired.

In fact, he still thought about the feeling a few minutes later when Orson had climbed back into his own bed with his clothes still on, turned on his side away from Galen as he drifted into sleep. He unconsciously ran a hand over his lips, then realized he was doing it, and turned on his own side. He closed his eyes, running their very strange conversation back through his head. Perhaps he should have told him, there had been a moment where he was sure he could have and Orson might have said it back. But the moment was gone, and he knew that it was more than likely just the alcohol and why anyone would be interested in him that way, let alone Orson who could have anyone in the school if he wanted, he couldn't comprehend.

But Orson's mumbled, disguised in Galen's shirt and by his own laughter, came to his thoughts as sleep claimed him with happy visions. "Am I?" He said had said loudly. "Is that all?" He had whispered right after.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks y'all for kudos and comments! I love to hear what you all have to say! I was so excited to write this chapter, we're twelve chapter in and their finally moving forward (baby steps of course ;) ) Hope you enjoy!

"You should drink more." Orson was slurring at him, his head leaned back on the plain walls of their room. It was better, Galen supposed, than him continuing to play with the star projection map that was next to his bed. At least this way, Galen could see consistently to read. "It might make you feel better."

"I do not feel bad." Galen insisted, looking up from the charts he was marking. He had spent the week investigating Jedi lore and in particular, their prolonged use of kyber to construct their lightsabers. There was an incredible amount of ceremony, and it seemed they had almost a monopoly on the resource, but he was hopeful, and being able to mark the supplies on the charts his professor had given him was a relief.

"You don't look happy," Orson was grinning at him, even when slightly inebriated, he had an uncanny ability to read anyone when it might be useful. The alcohol simply kept him from holding back as much as he usually did. A little less careful, perhaps, but still impeccably observant.

"That does not mean I am sad." Galen said again, and Orson laughed silently, covering his mouth with his hands. Galen quickly looked away, his ears burning again, wishing his eyes hadn't focused for a second too long on Orson's fingers.

"No." And Orson continued laughing, fueled by whiskey. He had gone out every night of the weekend, every weekend since that first week Galen had been worrying he was avoiding him. He had come to the room in the wee hours of the morning one time to see a dark, unfamiliar shape in Orson's bed that had disappeared by the time he woke up the next morning to an apology breakfast, courtesy of his roommate, who was receiving the food delivery shirtless when Galen woke up. He had quickly looked away, even as Orson had turned to him, slight bruising over his collarbone, his neck reddened from his nocturnal company, and his lithe form distracting to Galen that early in the morning. "I suppose not."

Galen was happy that Orson no longer seemed to be avoiding him, though this was the first night he hadn't returned from the club and immediately gone to bed or the shower, smelling of sweat and cigarette smoke with only a few words to Galen between. He said nothing for a few minutes and Galen couldn't help but let out a small sigh as the lights went down and the star chart appeared between them in the dark room.

"Here's where I'm from." Orson was speaking for the first time he had pulled it up, and Galen looked up at him. He had a strange look on his face, slightly flushed with heat from the alcohol, the top button of his shirt undone for the same reason. "It doesn't look nearly as important when you can see everything else, too."

Galen's eyes left Krennic face to focus on Lexrule. He was right, it seemed an insignificant dot spread among many insignificant dots, glinting gold while other dots glowed blue or green or red or silver. It was easy enough to find Brentaal, which was covered in a red haze, and Grange, though he had no intention of returning there soon, with its green overtones. "Lexrule has many things to offer." Galen tried to defend it, and he was being truthful. The ore deposits had leant themselves to a large mine and trade economy that had turned it from a relatively insignificant outpost to a booming center of galactic trade. But Orson was shaking his head.

"I'm sure it does in the archives." He said, and he stood to seemingly look more closely at it, "I hate it." He added softly, the slurred edge of his words gone as he stood on suddenly wobbly legs. His face was hardened as it was taken by some memory Galen did not understand. He looked almost…anguished.

"Orson, are you alright?" He asked, and set aside his charts to stand up.

"How important is it, Galen?" He asked, his blue eyes glinting in the light that came off the small projected planets. "Where you're from?"

"Not very." Galen said, nodding his head. If it mattered so much, he would spend his future farming wheat germ for people who would never bother to come see where their food came from, he was not ready to live that life.

"Do we only think that because we're from unimportant places?" Orson said, letting out a laugh that was tinged with drunken honesty and a complete absence of humor. His eyes wondered back to Lexrule. "I wonder if they know how much I hate them." He said, the defiance that Galen sometimes heard pushing through his voice as his eyes glinted.

Galen felt a prickle of something run along the back of his neck. Almost fear from the accosted look in Orson's eyes as he glared at the gold light of his home planet. "Orson?" He said softly, realizing how out of palce this was for his friend, who rather showed any emotion other than mild amusement. Galen was parlay to something deeper on occasion, genuine excitement when he was working through his architectural plans, the empathy he had given to Galen when he had them driven to Grange in his father's transport months before. But this was different, without provocation.

"My family." He said flatly, the drunken tinge almost gone from his words, but the flush still there on his features that glowed in the dim light. "My mother and father." He elaborated. "He let out another dry laugh. "It's alright. They hate me too." It was pain in his voice, and Galen was beginning to worry that Orson might be cracking.

"Did something happen?" Galen said, knowing there was more to the story.

"Nothing unusual." Orson replied. "We're not like them, Galen." And he reached out a hand to set it on Galen's shoulder. His eyes were glittering with defiance and pain and triumph, an odd mixture from a normally emotionless man. "And they will always think us lesser for it."

Galen swallowed, moving his eyes between the planet and Orson's own eyes, both captivating in their own right. "Until we prove them wrong." There it was, that prickle of fear that this time moved up his spine at the almost cold tone Orson had. But it was offset by the hand that had moved from his shoulder to barely along the outer ridge of his next. Orson's eyes moved to be fixed on him.

"They can say all they want about where we're from." Orson said softly, his hand moving again to trace the strong curve of Galen's jaw. He could feel his heart beating faster, thrumming in his chest. Months almost of feeling such a strong pull to the man in front of him, and now he could hardly breathe. He didn't dare speak for fear of what he might say, selfishly worried that Orson might stop talking, might stop whatever it was he planning on doing. "They don't understand what we're capable of."

His thumb moved across Galen's chin, then back towards his own fingers. His ears were burning, the blush flooding down to his face as Orson gave him a genuine grin for the first time, seemingly happy in his pronouncement. "I find you intriguing, Galen Erso."

"I don't know what to say." And he was at a loss for words. What did that mean? What was happening? What was Orson feeling? Was it that connective defiance, stemming from whatever cruel words had driven him back to Galen instead of to some stranger's apartment that night? Was it ease of access and the taint of alcohol affecting his decisions, or some genuine form of affection? Was it the manifesto of the same sort of attachment and feelings that had been sitting in Galen's stomach and heart and mind for what seemed like the majority of his life? Was it simple friendship, their own brand of such that seemed to operate well beyond the realm of what others might consider friendship, or was it something more?

"Do you find me intriguing?" Orson asked, and the defiance changed briefly to vulnerability. Galen blushed again, his face matching the deep red of Orson's own face.

"Yes." He whispered, his eyes cast down so that it was a surprise when Orson's lips connected with his own, when his friend tugged on his jaw so that he would turn his head, his blue eyes closing. He moved on instinct, one hand wrapping around him, another threading through Orson's long hair as he tried his best simply to savor the moment and ignore the hints of whiskey on Orson's potentially confused tongue and the prickle of fear that Orson's words had pushed through him.

 


	13. Chapter 13

He was going crazy. Not the kind of crazy that people assumed him to be, when he spent his nights laboring over crystals and writing forumlas and correcting professors who didn't understand silence near as well as they thought they did. No, he was going genuinely insane, trapped inside of his own head for the time being, with no one to speak to except the one person he couldn't.

He stabbed at his salad with his fork, sitting in the booth in the back of the dining hall, keeping his dark eyes fixed on Orson, who sat with his usual gaggle of admirers. He was laughing, in the midst of telling some story that Galen was sure was either one he had heard or a somewhat falsified account of actual events. Either way, he couldn't stop watching, a thousand things playing through in his mind. It had been three days.

Three days since Orson had told him his feelings about his parents. Three days since Orson had tied them inexplicably together because of their other-ness that seemed to aid in Galen's ease of being a social pariah and hurt Orson's chances of advancing easily. Three days since he had told Galen he found him intriguing. Three days since he had kissed him in their room, pulling him close, into an embrace that had felt genuinely intimate. A dangerous thing, he knew, for Orson Krennic who tried his best to act a persona. To everyone but Galen, whose chest he had placed his forehead on after their kiss, breathing heavily. Galen, who had held him close and had wanted to kiss him again but had waited. Galen, who hadn't pushed it the next morning when he had woken up with a slight hangover and had just wanted to shower instead of talking. Galen, who was watching him now with confusion, and, thought he kept his face passive, hurt.

Ober the course of the past three days, Orson hadn't mentioned it. And Galen knew he remembered because hehad apologized for continually turning the star charts on and off and had looked at Galen as though he expected him to say more. Which he hadn't. He wasn't sure what to do, exactly. He realized that the bite he had been chewing for the better part of two minutes was practically sludge in his mouth and swallowed it, sighing visibly as Orson still did not look his direction. Galen considered himself a novice on friendships, they hadn't been a real necessity on Grange, though he could recall friends of his parents making the long travel to the farm on occasion. He remembered being petrified by them when he was little, not understanding why they had needed to speak to people he did not know.

So while friendship held its own concerns, Galen also knew nothing about how to approach a relationship of any romantic inclination. He looked away from Orson, his ear tips glowing red, and began to look at his data pad to distract himself. If he was being honest with himself, which he always was, it had been his first kiss. He had decided not to count the one a girl his age had given him at the market on Grange once: one because he did not know her or return it, and two, since she had run away immediately to a group of giggling friends, he was certain it had been a dare. This was not a dare, or a joke, or anything but potentially serious. And yet, Orson had not mentioned it.

He shut his datapad, dumping the rest of the salad in the garbage since he was truly in no mood to eat, and left the cafeteria. He paused at the door, turning slightly to spare Orson a glance to see if his friend had finally noticed him or not. And, to his surprise, his face turning red, there was a pair of bright blue eyes looking back at him from several tables over, a slight smile on his face. He pulled the door open and shuffled out of it, shaking his shoulders to let go of the trepidation that had come with the intensity of that stare.

He was in the room for less than half an hour when the door opened. He looked up from the bed to see Orson standing there, a half smile, half cautious look on his face. "Hello, Galen."

"Hello." He answered, and watched as the door shut behind him roommate. "Did you need something?"

Orson cocked his head, letting some of his teeth actually show in a half smile. "Yes, actually." He answered, leaning back on his bed. "I need to speak with you."

Galen felt his pulse quicken, memories of three nights before invading his brain. The lips that were now smiling on him pressed against his own, Orson's hands, now folded over his own arms threading through his hair and around his back, the taste of whiskey and spun sugar taffy that he knew Orson kept a drawer full of on his side of the room. "Okay." He said, nodding slowly, willing his mind to slow down for once so that he didn't mess whatever this was up. "Is something troubling you?"

"Do I seem troubled, Galen?" Galen shook his head, confused by the question. "I'm not. I'm a bit concerned though."

"About what?"

"I remember the other night, in its entirety." Galen sucked in a sharp, but hopefully quiet breath. He nodded, letting his eyes shut for a long moment before reopening them to Orson's sharp gaze on his. "Can I sit?" He gestured to the half of the bed that Galen never sat on, waiting on his nod before he joined him, leaving his shoes on the floor. He sat back against the wall, looking straight ahead instead of at Galen. "I'm sorry, Galen, if its not what you wanted."

"No." Galen said, nodding to reassure him, planning to continue, but Orson placed a hand on his forearm to keep him quiet.

"I could lie to you and say I wasn't thinking, or I was drunk, or I was lonely, but I know you'd see right through that." His voice had dropped to be completely even, a monotone that gave nothing away. "I find you intriguing, Galen. Fascinating really, moreso than any person I have ever met.."

"Why?" Galen could eel his face burning, knowing Orson hadn't expected the interruption. "There are others…"

"You have a beautiful mind." Orson said, so matter-of-fact that Galen couldn't help but believe him. "But you have a soul under all of it." He turned on the bed, his hand still on Galen's arm, but moving to his chest, resting over his heart. "You are kind while others are cruel. They live their lives for petty details and recognition. You live yours for work and to help others."

Galen tried to keep his breathing under control, tried to process what Orson was saying even though it was becoming increasingly difficult at such close proximity with his stare boring into him and Orson's hand pressed against his heartbeat. "I don't understand you fully." Orson said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I wish that I could, and maybe that is the cause of all this."

He let his hand fall back to his own knee, looking past Galen to look at nothing. "I'm sorry for not bringing this up sooner, Galen. Truly." He paused, but Galen didn't speak, words not coming to his brain or his mouth. He only swallowed, fearful of what Orson might say next. "I'm sorry for seeming to avoid you, for not wanting to talk, but I needed to sort things out for myself first."

"It is alright." And Orson's eyes were back on him, and he gave a small smile of what might have been amusement. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, and Galen wondered if Orson was expecting something from him. Something he didn't know who to give.

"If this isn't what you want, Galen…"And he couldn't bear to let the thought finish. Finally, for someone who had spent their whole life letting their mind run free and not saying every thought that spilled through his mind, he couldn't let this one conversation finish.

Instead, he reached up a hand to Orson's face and kissed him mid-sentence before he had time to question it again. He could hear his kyber charts being crushed between them and wished he cared more at the moment. If Orson was surprised, it lasted only for a moment, and Galen found himself being pressed back against the wall as one kiss turned into two, then three, then four, then a dozen. As the bitter taste of uncertainty faded into a gentle lull of happiness when Orson' broad fingers moved over his shirt, the feeling of his hands on his torso, even over his clothes, better than what his mind had conjured up in that odd time between sleep and waking.

How long they stayed like that, he wasn't sure. Long enough that when he opened his eyes again as Orson moved to kiss a place on his neck instead of his lips, that the light that had been filtering through the window had faded completely to darkness. He didn't wrap his arms around Orson, letting him rest his head on his shoulder for a moment, catching his breath.

"We should do homework." Galen said, as an afterthought, and Orson pulled back from him, laughing so much that he had to cover his mouth with his hand like he did when he was embarrassed.

"Really, Galen?" He said, moving his body away to lean back against the wall. "Is that what you were thinking about?"

Galen blushed, from his ear tips down to the red spot on his neck that throbbed right over his pulse, and said nothing. He reached for the charts that Orson had pushed away from them both, flattening them out with his hands, careful not to cut along the calluses that had formed there while he had worked the fields and then the labs. "No." He said, glancing over to see Orson smiling at him with an odd look on his face. Or, perhaps it was only odd because Galen had only seen it once or twice etched into his features. Genuine happiness. Not the drunk revelry that came with whiskey, or the happiness that came with guilt-free sex with strangers, but a strong, lasting happiness across his normally fettered features. "What?" He could feel heat rising in his face again.

"You're just interesting," Orson said, and placed his hand over Galen's before he stood again. "Galen," And he waited until Galen had looked up again. "We can take this slowly. However you like." Galen nodded reaching for his pen.

"I am not sure I would call this slowly, but I agree." Orson laughed again, covering his mouth and watching Galen who managed this time to give him an unblushing smile.

"Let's work then," Orson agreed, climbing back onto his own bed. "And see what tomorrow brings."


	14. Chapter 14

Orson took to a habit of waking up before Galen did. He wasn't sure what had caused it, probably because Galen had long been in the habit of taking long strolls long after others had gone to sleep. He could hear him, even in the midst of sleep, slip quietly out of their room when his mind became overwhelmed and his body needed to compensate. It made him think fondly back at the time he had met Galen outside, looked at the galaxy well beyond them a long time before any of this had happened. How things had changed.

But now he woke, drank cups of diluted caf because he hated the taste, and would leave to find somewhere for a few moments of solitude before his day began. There was a certain freedom in hearing only minute shuffling behind closed doors while he was fully dressed and ready for what the day might being. He hoped that it lent to his image of well-preparedness and allowed for people to see what potential he had when they all climbed their way out of the program. He, as of late, had been thinking less and less about them. They were become something lesser than beings to him.

They were connections. They were links to greater goals, pots of money, steep ambitions. He found himself wanting to be around them less and less, though even he had to admit they were better nightclub company than Galen, and instead of effort, his whole routine of showing at least vague interests in their ideas was becoming second-nature to him. It was always a sigh of relief when he would make it back to his and Galen's suite, shutting the door to them and everyone else behind him to be open with the one person in the entire godforsaken school he was certain wasn't an idiot.

But he had come this far already, and would not give up all the hard fought networks he had created simply because of slight annoyance. The day would come when he wouldn't have to look at them anymore and he could simply pursue his own goals without their interests in mind. Today, however, was not that day and as a sophomore Governor's son stuck his head out of a doorway to call his name in Hello, he forced his knitted smile back to his face and did what he needed.

It was an odd schedule day, he and Galen had no classes together, but both were planning to be in the research facilities by chance that evening. He was amazed with himself for looking forward to it so much. He couldn't truly remember the last time he had felt genuinely excited for other than his pending internship which was beginning to loom over him. He had told his father, who had spoken gruff congratulations into the comm before passing it to his mother who had done much the same. They had wanted no details other than cost and scheduling, and he had been more than happy to provide those in the forty-five seconds that it took before they cancelled the communication. Sometimes, more often than he knew was healthy, he wondered why they had ever decided to have children to begin with. They seemed so cumbersome in general, and for two people who didn't like each other, sharing a being must have been its own kind of living hell.

He let classes pass by meaninglessly, taking detailed notes that earned him the admiration of a first year student who sat beside him who asked if might share his data file after class. He had, of course, and said he would be more than happy to share any others after a long conversation regarding the boy's mother who was a higher up in one of the Core World Banking Clans.

But that breath of relief came when he was able to shut the research lab door behind him, taking a moment to breathe out the false frustrations of the day before he ventured into the permeated darkness to find his roommate. His and Galen's relationship was morphing as they themselves were changing. Two weeks before, when they had shared their first kiss, it had seemed like something out of an odd dream to Orson. Three days later when he had pulled their bodies together, holding him close, tasting him, feeling him begin to settle under his skin, he had realized how deeply this might truly run.

He was experienced in this sort of thing, even on Lexrule when he had briefly been involved with an older woman who helped secure his place in the program (alongside his father's money). He knew the power that sex held over people, how physical intimacy was often connected with just how much they were willing to do for you. He had slept with many people, people he needed to sleep with and strangers he wanted to sleep with when the alcohol buzzing in his brain and the ache in his body had made it seem like a very good idea. This however, had proven itself to be very different.

With the others, it had been clear what his goals were. A single night, insurance for his future, something to forget when he should have been remembering. This was not the case with Galen. When Galen would reach across the small table they had taken to sharing for a few meals a week and place his hand over Orson's to keep it from tapping on the marble, he found himself craving the warmth after it disappeared. When Galen hadn't shaved in a couple of days because he had been too busy welding crystals together and the scruff of his face rubbed against Krennic's, he found himself enjoying the strange sensation. When things would start getting heavier and he would be tugging at Galen's worn tunic to feel his skin under his fingers, he found himself almost hurt when Galen would pull away.

For once in his life, there were actual emotions tied to this. It had occurred to him that perhaps that was how it should be. That it was very human to become tied to a person you shared things like this with, but that didn't mean he had ever done it. Three weeks and Galen had never tried to undress him, not even tugging at his boots. Three weeks and his friend, his lover, his roommate had not pressed him to have sex like all of the others had, he seemed perfectly content to wait. He had to admit that part of him missed those encounters, the rough passion, the haste of undressing someone, of a goodbye that had never really started with a hello. But this, he knew, had given him something different.

Like now, when he saw Galen perched over a set of two crystals, a small green flame extending from the torch in one and a pair of metal tongs held tight in the other, he smiled without realizing it. He smiled at Galen's ridiculous glasses that he was certain the man might wear outside of the laboratory if Krennic didn't give him such a hard time about them; he smiled simply for being in Galen's company.

"Hello." He said, setting his band and datapad down, pulling his own blueprint sheets from his bag so that he might work under the strange blue glow. He didn't ask if he could join Galen, he was certain that he wouldn't refuse him, or perhaps, though he would never admit it, he was afraid he would refuse him.

"Hello," Galen said, his accented voice sounding lifted at seeing Orson, but strangely off key. Krennic glanced up at him, trying to discern what the cause might be, but as per usual, Gale's face gave nothing away but his passion for the two crystals in front of him, finally joining together after what seemed like an infinite amount of waiting.

"Are you alright?" Galen said nothing this time, and Krennic was certain that something had happened. Something serious, even, with this kind of response. "Did something happen?"

"Yes." Galen let out a small sigh that he did whenever Krennic knew he was being pushy. "It is over now, though." And he moved the tongs as if indicating he genuinely did not want to speak anymore about it. So Krennic, always perceptive, said nothing else to him and instead began shading in the electric requirements for the recreation facility he was designing. It was one of the amenities the Brentaal program did not have, and one that the Republic would be financing under his supervision that summer. He had included space for all of things he would want: a swimming facility, military-grade training program spaces and equipment, an outdoor enclosure. If they followed his plans and recommendations for commodity financing, it would be a masterpiece and useful bit for the program.

Now he found himself deep in the calculations required to make the building operate properly. He knew there were students in the program that doubted his abilities, he could feel their whispers behind his back sometimes when he wouldn't do as well on an exam as he had anticipated, but he was also comfortable in the fact that they were very wrong about him. They hadn't seen his mind at work when it was calculating foundation estimates, or designing corridors that would appear large but conserve space. They hadn't seen his eyes for color in its mathematical applications of perception and size. Therese were things he was well aware that they would never understand. But, as was his usual state of mind, he was fine with being the only one to truly understand his own genius. There would come a day soon enough that others would realize it as well.

He felt Galen's eyes on his on occasion, the stare almost a physical presence in such a quiet room. It would happen most often when he would place his pen between his teeth, spinning it to try and reason out a final, unreachable number, or when he would run his hands through his now curly hair. He smirked a little at that, though Galen had never pressed him for more than what they were doing, he was certainly thinking about it. That, he could wait for.

He wasn't sure how they worked. He was on his third page of schematics when his stomach was threatening to tear a hole it itself from being empty since the early lunch he had taken that morning before afternoon lecture and study hall. He looked at Galen, who, at his gaze, released the cap trigger that kept the small green flame burning. "Why don't we go get something to eat?" Galen asked, a hint of humor under his still troubled tone.

Krennic huffed a small sound of agreement, marking his place and rolling up his charts. He watched Galen, who he know noticed was short some equipment. "Where is your datapad?" He watched Galen's ears turn red as they usual did, that blush spreading down his as he cocked his head towards the garbage can. Krennic stood, pulling his bad around his shoulder, and looked into the bin to see Galen's outdated pad amongst the trash, the screen shattered into an unreadable web. "What happened?"

"It is nothing, Orson." Galen said, but now Krennic knew. Not who it was, of course, but that this wasn't an accident.

"It isn't nothing, Galen. How much work did you lose?"

"Only a slight amount. I keep most of my notes on paper." He said quickly. "Please, let's just go eat. I will deal with it later."

Krennic said nothing, knowing better than to push it. It was undoubtedly one of the complete idiots who inhabited the school who had done this. Galen wasn't well-known, mostly since he refused to speak to most people and they, in turn, did not take the time to approach him. He was a semi-outcast who would have lived on the complete periphery if not for his incredibly high grades. Top in the class in almost every class: math, science, politics. His ability to absorb and transform information was unmatched, and Orson knew there were some that would hate him for it. But this, this was extreme. He tamped his anger down, shouldering his bag as Galen put away his goggles before they walked out of the lab. It was dark again, the halls bustling with people returning to their rooms or going to the library to work. He hoped that dinner might still be open for them as they pressed through the halls in silence.

"There he is." The voices almost stopped Galen cold, but Krennic reflexively grabbed his arm to keep him moving forward. "He's a got a friend with him now."

"Yeah," Krennic heard another one, getting closer to them. "But who's he?"

"Probably another one of those scholarship pieces of…" Krennic stopped and spun around, two older, large human males almost running into him. His eyes bore into them as their sentence stopped. He extended a hand, flexing his fingers, "Orson Krennic." He said, but the older student didn't take it. "Can I help you with something?"

"I don't think so." And the one had been talking first put a hand on his chest, pushing him backwards so that he stumbled slightly. "Unless you can get your friend here to stop fucking up our curve."

"He wouldn't be if you weren't doing so badly to begin with," Krennic said, immediately realizing his mistake. But he was tired and hungry and angry at these idiots for destroying the one nice thing that Galen had been able to buy for himself.

"Orson." He heard Galen say, but it was too late to stop them really.

"What was that?" There was a crowd starting to collect around them. "You think we're stupid?" Krennic knew that in fact, they were not stupid. They had waited until Galen was alone to break his data pad, and now, they were about to try and fight him with no one but Galen to support. But the angry, unyielding Krennic won out of any hope of soothing the situation over.

"I didn't say it." He said, "You must have already been thinking it." And then a fist collided with his stomach on the last syllable and he was staggering backwards as the back of another hand connected with the side of his face to knock him to the ground. A heavy weight started to press on his chest as one of them climbed on top of him, throwing punches into his head and shoulders in odd intervals, some of which he blocked, and he even landed one on the boy's nose with a sickening cracking noise, watching blood fall from that onto his uniform in the seconds he could keep his eyes open.

It was getting harder to breathe, the weight pressing on his lungs making it almost impossible for him to catch his breath under the onslaught of attacks being pressed on his face. They came hard and fast, and he could taste blood in his mouth as his teeth cut against his check, he could feel it dripping on his face as his nose started to leak. He was starting to feel dizzy, the room spinning from lack of oxygen when suddenly the weight was gone. He gasped, head throbbing, and turned on his side to see both of his attackers crumpled to the ground, Galen standing over them without a scratch. The crowd around them was silent as Galen fell to his knees beside Krennic, moving his hair out of his face, and hoisting his hands under his arms to lift him to his feet.

"Orson," Galen said softly, but he still hadn't caught his breath, leaning heavily on his friend. His injuries were starting to throb, and he could hear the loudspeaker announcement to clear the halls. The two who had attacked them were starting to scramble to their feet, looking at Galen with almost fearful expressions before they took off to get away from the administration who was set to arrive. "Hold your nose, its bleeding."

He pulled what looked like a glove from his bag and handed it to KRennic who began to mop at the blood on the underside of his face, as the head administrator pushed through the crowd to get to them, bellowing for others to leave the scene behind.

Two hours later, and they were sitting in a restaurant not far from school grounds, eating an expenses-paid dinner since they had missed the opportunity for dinner by being assaulted in the hallway. After Krennic had gotten his nose and cheek to stop bleeding, the damage, except for some visible bruising, was mostly managed. Galen didn't have a scratch on him, and Orson was dying to know how he had taken them both down so easily.

"I didn't picture our first date quite like this, Galen." After Galen had not spoken since they had gotten their menus, he tried to lighten the mood. To his amusement, Galen's face reddened in the dim light of the restaurant, and he nodded his head in agreement.

"No." He said, far more serious than Krennic was intending. "I thought we would both be in good health."

The food was delicious and the conversation changed from the fight to their relationship to their schoolwork to their aspirations. It was becoming increasingly easier for Galen to talk freely, and their conversations flowed easily between them like it could with no others they knew. But still, Krennic was burning to know how, why, what Galen had done.

"How did you stop them, Galen?" Galen coked his head in confusion. "They ran off afraid of you, I was just wondering what you did."

"I am stronger than I look." Galen said quietly as they stood to leave. "And I couldn't stand by and let something happen to you, Orson." He added as a quiet afterthought that had Krennic smiling a painful grin against bruised cheeks as they turned to leave the restaurant.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! thanks for reading! Updates are going to slow down again as work and classes resume, but I'm hoping to keep them up! Thanks for all the comments and kudos, they give me the inspiration to keep going! :)

"What is this place?" Galen seemed fascinated by the pastry shop, going from counter to counter, peering through thick glass at an array of multicolored pastry that boasted recipes from across the galaxy. Krennic already knew his favorites, the eclairs that were packed with mid-rim chocolate cream and the rich spice cakes that Galen was looking at now. He was stunned for a moment, that Galen seemed so enraptured by all of this, but then the image of Grange flickered through his mind, with the only store the one that had sold a smattering of farm equipment and most of the booths at the market filled with cheap meats or overwrought produce. "Do they make all of these here?"

The woman behind the counter, a humanoid with silvery skin through Krennic a questioning glance as Galen walked along the aisles. He smiled at her, taking a seat at once of the small tables so Galen could shop. They had spent the morning in the city off campus, Krennic suspecting that after the incident yesterday that Galen needed the space away from the school. And a new data pad, which Krennic had watched him painstakingly count out credits for a used one while he pretended to look at other things. A temptation had swept over him to buy Galen one of the new, gleaming data pads that lined the wall. Something that would help him with his work, not hinder him with slow processing. But his father would be irate and Galen would never allow it either way. He had, however, insisted on their current trip through downtown so as to come to the pastry shop.

It was one in a row of small stores, two of which they had already stopped in. Krennic set the large bag of spun sugar taffy on the table in front of him, resisting the urge to east a piece while he waited for Galen to make his selection.

"Can I help you with something?" The woman asked, tapping her fingernails on the glass. Krennic covered his mouth to avoid smiling as Galen froze and stared back at her. To his relief, she wasn't frightened, but seemed faintly amused. "Well," She said, after a long minute of him saying nothing. "Let me know if you do." And she shuffled away to help other customers.

Krennic continued to watch as Galen blushed and then continued looking through the cases and at the bags of breads and boxes of full-size cakes. "Orson." He said, peering down, "I have never seen these before."

Krennic stood, walking over to see him examining a puff pastry that said it was the specialty of Grange. "Maybe it is from the other side of the planet." He mused, but Galen shook his head in confusion.

"The other side of the planet is covered by water." He paused, pulling at the skin by his lips like he did when he was concentrating. "Perhaps I have just never seen them." He concluded, almost more to himself than to Krennic, who had to stifle another laugh. Only Galen Erso could make pastries seem so serious.

"What are you going to get?" Krennic asked, and the woman came over to them, seeing that he had joined Galen. He ordered two each of the eclairs and the spice cakes, and while the woman was ordering them, Galen seemed to be contemplating.

"Have you had the fruit?" Krennic shook his head, and Galen studied the case harder. Krennic could feel the woman's patience wearing a bit, and he hoped Galen might notice.

"I'll take one of those." He finally said, pointing to Muja fruit Danishes. He reached into his pocket to pull out credits, but Krennic cut him off.

"He'll take two." And he pressed down enough credits for the food a generous tip before Galen could move any further. He took the box and Galen followed him out of the sweet-smelling shop as the woman flashed him another smile and raised her eyebrows. If he hadn't been otherwise…occupied in his life, he might have come back to talk to her. But, with a look at Galen, who faintly smiled as the sun that broke through the top layer of the city came down to them back out on the streets.

"Do you want this now, or later?" KRennic said, rummaging in the box with a napkin.

"Later." Galen said, "Thank you.'

Krennic had been planning on enjoying an evening at the night club, with a few shots of Swvedish whiskey to help wash the week away. But he ahd never made it out the door, and at the moment, he had no complaints.

Galen had eaten his pastry thoughtfully, and had laughed out loud when Orson had gotten the sugar coating from the spice cakes all over himself. He loved Galen's laugh, as rare as it was, it was always genuinely, like the man himself. He had pursed his lips at Galen, closing the box of sweets, taking the Danish from his roommates hand and placing it on the counter before pulling him into a kiss.

Galen had stopped him a few moments later, looking down between them. "You are covered in sugar." He has said, panting slightly. It always amazed Krennic that slight look of surprise in Galen's eyes when he kissed him, like he didn't expect for the continued interest of the man in front of him. It always brought a slight smirk to Krennic's face, that he could give Galen that reaction despite the fact that they were a month into whatever this was becoming. Krennic rolled his eyes at Galen's comment, and leaned in to kiss him again, his body aching for this kind of contact, but Galen's hands kept him back.

His mouth was pressed into a thin line and he was staring at the apparently offensive dusting on Krennic's tunic. "Galen…" He was about to ask some incredulous question, but stopped as Galen's hands started to undo his tunic fastenings. He heard his own breath catch, both amazed and slightly apprehensive. This anxiety wasn't new, he had held it many times getting undressed in front of strangers, tearing at his clothes, worried about their sharp gazes deadened by alcohol or ecstasy. But this time it was different.

As Galen's hands moved deftly, methodically undoing the layers that covered his skin, he could feel the heat moving over his skin in the same motions. He wondered if Galen knew he was attractive, with his high-cut cheekbones, dark eyes, dark hair, thin build. He was compelling, Krennic could feel the intelligence radiating from the seriousness of his gaze. He could feel his body reacting to that line of thoughts accordingly, but decided instead to focus on this moment.

Finally, all of Galen's work had paid off, and he felt the man's hands on his shoulders, pushing the fabric back. He tossed Krennic's shirt backwards onto the man's bed and simply stood there for a long moment. Krennic could feel his blush creeping up his neck, he wanted to know what Galen thought, his face impassive as always. Perhaps he was overhyping the depth of the relationship to begin and Galen wasn't all that interested in him sexually. Perhaps, now that they had moved this close, Galen was having second thoughts about this whole scene.

But then, he could feel the boys hand on the back of his neck, and the first kiss Galen had initiated between them being pressed to his lips. Fingers being brushed across his torso, and a sudden shift to turn them and press him back against the bed. He couldn't repress a slight moan at the contact, pulling him closer.

He longed to pull Galen's tunic off, to feel his skin instead of the rough fabric of his tunic. But he didn't want to push Galen too far, not in one night. "Wait." He said, breaking them apart. He stepped over, feeling Galen's gaze on him as he turned the light off and instead ignited the star map so the room glowed almost ethereally.

Galen sat on the bed, clearly not expecting them to continue, but Krennic went to him, kissing him hard and climbing up to press him back to the bed. Galen's hands trailed over his bare back, and he could feel the goosebumps rising along the same paths. He shuddered against him, and then, in move that made him gasp, Galen flipped them over, pressing him into the bed, his dark eyes catching the glints off the stars and planets that circled around them.

"Is this alright?" Galen asked, his voice rougher than Krennic was used to, his mouth still tasting of his Muja fruit pastry and the herbal tea Krennic had noticed him drinking as of late. "We can stop…."

Krennic laughed, running a hand up to trace Galen's jaw. "No." He said, pulling Galen back down to him, kissing him hard. He was acutely aware that Galen was making impassioned noises as he traced his skin, and as KRennic wrapped a leg around Galen's waist to pull him closer, he had to smirk with the knowledge that Galen was enjoying this as much as he was.

He let his feelings swirl around him, sexual, temporal, and for once in his life, he just enjoyed the sensation of being this close to someone he actually cared for. What an odd feeling for a man who never thought he needed someone else.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Orson woke to an unaccustomed warmth at his side, and around his waist. He brought a hand up to his face, letting out a long breath as he tried to figure out the scene in front of him. It took him a moment, in the sleepy state he was in, to realize that he was looking at his side of the room, and was, in fact, asleep on Galen's. He blinked for a few moments, realizing that the warmth was Galen's body and his arm wrapped around his waist. As he lay still, he could feel Galen's breath warm on the back of his neck, move over the skin and down his spine.

He felt his neck redden in the darkness, trying to riddle out all that had happened. His shirt he could see lying on his bed, and since he could feel the rough fabric of Galen's tunic on his back and didn't see anymore of his own clothes strewn on their floor, he decided that there was nothing he had forgotten about the night before. So instead of rising early as he normally did, though his body was more than ready to get up, he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of Galen pressed against him before the world came rudely back to them.

He was warm and strong, and, even though Krennic knew it was just a byproduct of the morning, seemed a bit ready, even in his sleep. But he knew that he couldn't stay there all day, and even though his body cried out against the loss of warmth, he moved to the shower, sparing a few moments to look at Galen who mumbled in his sleep as he had slipped down to be almost covered by the blanket he had pulled over the pair of them, his fingers closing together above the sheet. He had to smile at the look on Galen's face, impassive as (almost) always, but daring to hint at a small smile that came with pleasant dreams, dreams that Krennic hoped he might be the star of.

Galen still had woken when Krennic had come back to gather his things for the day, the sun barely clipping in through the bottom rungs of the window. He was tempted to wake him, to give him a kiss that hinted at the long week ahead for both of them while serving as a reminder for the night before, so much so that he took two steps toward the bed before turning on his heel and taking his bag out the door with him.

As per usual, there was hardly anyone up at this hour. The weekend had been immediately following mid-term examinations and the parties had done almost more damage than the tests had. The whole building smelled of alcohol and poor decision making, and the only person he saw again was the elderly custodian that usually worked late at night cleaning the men's hall. He walked with purpose, neatly dressed to the toe, and headed for the academic buildings.

He passed through the different wings of the building, nodding to one professor that had arrived early, but otherwise continuing unannounced. He thought this might be the time he did his best work. With a smirk to himself, he thought that he hadn't done too badly in Galen's bed either, but since that had stagnated for the time being, he chose to focus on academic pursuits. There was no one around to impress, no one to bother him at this early hour. He could make mistakes and curse through them in language that would appall some of the older professors here, but that relived the stress he felt when his blueprints wouldn't come out perfect on the first try. He wondered vaguely, if Galen had ever cursed like that, and tried to picture it. It was enough to make him laugh, and to jolt him to start heading to his first class.

He folded his plans carefully, excited at last to finish the roof design for the recreation complex. The funding has been approved for initial construction and they would begin as soon as term ended. He and Galen had already applied for housing at the program and been approved, so he was hoping to settle into a very productive term break.

The buildings were still scarce with people, spread thin as most students avoided the early morning courses. He smirked to himself, hoping that they knew that the world beyond the classrooms didn't operate on a nocturnal timetable. He heard a door close behind him on the left, but it mingled with the other sounds of doors opening and closing, heating units kicking on and off, louder students beginning to address each other across the hall. He could see no one, but felt a strong tug on his bag. He turned, looking down to where he expected a hand and instead felt one press against his mouth, muffling his shout of surprise as he was jerked backwards harshly, no one in the hall to see it happen as he looked into a familiar, snarling face with a broken nose that hadn't grown back properly.

* * *

Galen Erso frowned. It was very unlike Orson to miss class. In fact, he had never missed class before that Galen was aware of, and certainly never ones that they had together where his almost constant finger tapping and pen chewing provided an almost welcome audible distraction during particularly boring lectures. But he did not show. Not even late, when other students who could not care to be on time came through the door with loud interrupting gestures. Galen sighed, perhaps Orson had simply needed a break. He silently hoped to himself that it had nothing to do with the night before, though he had been worried he had been far too forward, and instead decided to take detailed notes that he could share later.

He still hadn't arrived by the end of lecture, and since Galen knew most of the topic they were studying since he had actually done the reading, his mind was free to dream un ridiculous possibilities born of old anxieties. Perhaps he had requested a schedule change after realizing his relationship with Galen was no longer what he wanted and he wanted to distance himself from the man. Perhaps he had been moving his things out of his dorm and had found a different roommate to get away from Galen. Maybe he had decided the effort of pretending wasn't worth it and had secretly hated Galen all along. The thoughts were fast coming, each one slightly worse that all the rest in its own way, and he could feel himself starting to feel as though he was suffocating.

When the dismissal bell finally rang and he was able to slam his notebook into his bag and disappear before anyone else had even stood, he finally felt the relief of no longer being in that room. He knew he needed a break, and searched for the refresher that was somewhere on the hall. A place to breath in the mirror without a dozen pairs of suspicious eyes glaring at him, a professor to watch him, or obligations to meet. He stepped into the room, finally finding it near the stairs the research lab, and shoved inside.

Something was wrong. He was too perceptive to not see it, but what it was remained unclear. One of the sinks had been left on, and he chalked up that perhaps it had just been paranoia. But as he stepped to turn it off, he saw one of the stall doors was shut, but a quick glance under it and he saw a person slumped onto the ground. "Hello?" He asked, but there was no response.

He hooked his bag on the wall, and knocked on the stall. "Hello?" Something was badly wrong, he could feel it in his stomach, but he couldn't see through. He went in to the next stall, climbing onto the toilet right as another boy came in, saw him, and promptly turned back around. He blushed, but he was well aware that most people at the program already considered him strange, and whatever this was, it was far more important.

"Hello?" He wasn't quite tall enough to see over the stall, but he leaned as far as he could and pulled himself up, looking down. His mouth went dry, his heart leapt forward in his chest.

"Orson?" He heard himself whisper, "Orson?" But the figure, slumped with his head on the paper holder, a steady stream of blood dripping from his mouth being the only injury Galen could see, though there were certainly more.

"Orson!" He yelled, but there was no response. In a full panic, he climbed down off the toilet and started ramming against the stall door as hard as he could with his shoulder feeling the cheap lock rattle as he did. A few solid hits, and it was starting to loosen, he kept calling Orson's name, the word almost heavy on his lips. Another boy came in, stopping dead in his tracks at the scene in front of him, trying to take in Galen's tear-stained face his attempts to damage school property.

"Go get the nurse." He said, and the boy, a freshman by the look of him, nodded and ran off, letting the door slam behind him.

Two more solid hits and the door fell, Galen catching it before it could fall onto the body lying on the floor. "Orson?" He said, pushing the door away and falling to his knees. But his blue eyes were closed, bruises starting to form along his jaw and blood spilling out between his teeth and gums to drip onto the floor below him. There were footprints on his chest and ribcage, the outline of the school issue boots. One of his shoes was gone. But, as Galen looked at him, at first mistaking it for blood that had dripped from his mouth, there was a darkening wound on his left shoulder, a slit in the fabric that was letting the blood spread like a flower over the crisp grey of his uniform.

"Orson?" He said again, his voice still a whisper, but now his hand gently cradling the side of his face, but he wasn't waking, that he knew. "It will be okay." He said, willing himself to believe it. "I am here."

And then he heard the door open behind him, the hurried feet of administrators pouring in to fix this whole thing.

* * *

Krennic blinked awake, his eyes opening slowly at first as what might have been the nastiest headache he had ever felt pushed at his eyelids. He tried to move his hands up to cover his eyes, but his left arm screamed in protest, so instead, he closed his eyes again, breathing heavy against the onslaught of pain.

He could hear someone speaking, a voice he knew, but he was so disoriented that he couldn't place it at first. It continued, and he wasn't sure what the voice was saying at all, and was beginning to be quite sure that it wasn't being said in Basic, whatever it was. "He is awake." Finally, words he could understand. Then that low humming of words he didn't.

"He's in for a nasty few minutes at least. Before the painkillers set in on that headache." He agreed with that, but that was an unfamiliar voice to him. He latched back on to the one that he knew, letting the low, rich hum soothe him, lower his breathing rate, help rest his heart. He tried to remember what had happened, but with each passing second, he could only feel more pinpoints along his body that were like tiny needle pricks that burned like fire along his jaw, his chest, his ribcage, his foot. Not to mention the now constant pain in his arm that he wanted to curse himself for bringing to life.

"Orson." There was that voice again, and he even turned his head toward it, something he body would actually allow him to do with minimal protest. "You do not have to speak. You are being treated."

He wanted to ask what he was being treated for, had a thousand questions that were suddenly burning against his skull. But soon, almost as quickly as they had come, they were deadened as what felt like liquid ice pushed through the pain in his head and slowed it down. He blinked, this time able to keep his eyes open and focused on the figure whose voice he had heard.

"Galen?" He asked, his own voice sounding terrible to his ears. The figure looked down at him, bathed in incredibly bright fluorescent lighting.

"It is okay, Orson." He said, his voice soothing as the ice changed from relief to an incredible drowsiness that threatened to pull him back to the comfort of sleep.

"Galen." He said again, closing his eyes, suddenly fearful. "Don't leave." He wanted to reach a hand out, realizing now that something terrible had happened to him, but the details escaped his mind. He wanted, no, he needed Galen there when he woke again. But he couldn't move, what he now realized was medicine held his body at bay.

"Don't worry." His voice again, followed by a warm, rough hand with familiar calloused fingers wrapped its way around his own. "I won't." And he let sleep take him back over, using his last bit of waking strength to squeeze tightly to the fingers laced around his own.


	17. Chapter 17

"Does this hurt?" He heard Galen ask, his voice deep with worry as he long fingers moved across the scar now formed on Orson' shoulder. It had become a ritual, Galen dressing the wound each morning, and redressing it again each night before they fell asleep.

"No, Galen. It hasn't hurt for days." Krennic sighed, "I told you that." Galen said nothing, but finished tracing the wound which had healed into a thin white line.

"You were stabbed." He said finally, and Krennic could hear the anger resonating in Galen's voice. A deep, and he had to admit, somewhat appealing tone, that hinted that the man was more than simply irritated by the turn of events. Not that he had any reason, really, for lingering anger. Once Krennic had been healed enough to speak and the daze of drugs had left his system, he had remembered his attackers clearly. They were gone, no longer members of the student population and were being prosecuted for assault (which he supposed was the one things his father was decent at) and he had been left to heal.

"Yes," Krennic said, "but I've had an excellent caretaker." Galen's expression didn't change, but Krennic noticed the tips of his ears turning red at the praise. He felt Galen's hand move, tracing paths where bruises had finally healed, down to his ribcage. While this was after he had bene hit in the head several times, he could vaguely recall the other man stomping on his ribcage in the bathroom, oddly angled with the floor, while the bones resisted the urge to snap and bend.

"What about this?" His fingers trailed over the areas that had been hardest hit and longest to recover. They were healed now, the skin slightly more sensitive to Galen's touch than it had been before, but nothing painful. In fact, it was quite the opposite, and he could feel the blush creeping up his neck as Galen kept his hand moving.

"No." He said finally, not able to form more words in order to ensure he didn't say something that was truly on his mind.

"Okay." Galen said, and took a step back, Krennic letting out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. "It has fully scared over, there is nothing to bandage." And he turned away to close the small kit of first aid supplies on his bed. Krennic reached over, pulled his tunic loosely around his arms, but not buttoning it, letting it sit around him as he watched Galen.

He thought about the last two weeks spent in his care, he had been patient, his touch both healing and firm as he worked over Krennic's wounds. He could remember when he would play games outside of his home on Lexrule, run through the house, fall and get scraped. Get a small cut. Bump his head. Hurt his knee. Always, always, he would run to whichever parent was home from their job, tug on their tunic or dress. He could remember the last time he cried, when an extended piece of metal had ripped a hole through his pants into his leg, the wound deep and soaking the cloth with blood when he was eight years old. His mother had regarded him as if he were an unwanted stray animal and sent him to the butler to get bandaged while she tended to other things. He remembered that day, the clinical lack of caring their servant had had while wrapping his leg, the blood that continued to spot at the wrappings for the next few days while he kept any stiffness and pain to himself. The tears that had dried on his face and never reappeared.

He could compare that to the last two weeks, where when he would wake up, stiff and in pain, Galen would already be awakening, ready with the kit to redress his arm. He would help him get to the bathroom, help him pull on shirts. Help him carry his bag or dining tray, even when he wasn't sitting with Krennic and would disappear to his booth at the back, only to reappear when Krennic had finished eating to help him walk down the hall with his things. How many times had Galen's gentle fingers probed the bruises on his skin, checking for knots of infection or more severe damage? How many bacta patches had he peeled and opened over the past two weeks? Krennic could feel the care, the seriousness of Galen's actions, but also the genuine affection put behind him.

If he was honest, the thought scared him slightly. The gentle kiss Galen had given him only a couple of days before as he was turning in bed, trying to find a way to lay comfortably with his arm had soothed him so much he had laid awake in fear for almost half an hour. He was Orson Krennic. He didn't need others. He was independent, he could handle himself.

But perhaps, just perhaps, this boy in front of him who was neatly folding all of the pieces of the kit back into their proper place, was not a threat. The man, who, now that the painkillers had been gone from his system for a few days, he had been longing to hold close and feel breathing next to him again, could be more than a simple useful additive in his life. He looked at Galen longingly for another moment before standing, determined to take action.

Galen was taller than him, but when he leaned forward, his forehead fit perfectly into the curve of Galen's shoulder. Galen froze, but when Orson wrapped his arms around Galen's torso, he felt the same hands that had tended to his injuries lay over them just as gently. "Thank you, Galen." He said, and took in a deep breath of the clean, crisp scent of Galen Erso. "Truly."

"You're welcome." He answered back, in his typical tone that was at least tinged with some unidentifiable emotion.

"You know." Krennic said, and, feeling more than slightly daring, he pressed his lips up to Galen's ear. "Since I'm feeling better…"

"Orson." Galen's voice was steady, only a slight quiver bringing a smile to Orson's lips. "You have been hurt."

"And now I'm all better." He said in reply, and he slid of his hands from under Galen's, moving to undo the fastenings that held together Galen's tunic. "Is this alright?"

Galen said nothing for a moment, and Orson could feel him breathing against his chest, his body warm and inviting Krennic to hold him close. He paused his fingers, the fabric still pulled to Galen but the fastenings undone completely. "Don't stop, Orson." Finally, Galen breathed out, and Krennic grinned, pressing another kiss to his neck before he tugged on Galen's die to get him to turn around.

When they were face to face, Krennic moved his hand up over the fabric covering Galen's chest to gently trace his fingertips along the line of his jaw. The fabric started to move and he got a slight glimpse of Galen's chest, but kept his eyes trained on Galen's instead. They were almost swimming, and he could feel the tension in Galen's muscles, the slight anxiety that he knew he shared. But this, this he had wanted for a long time, and now it finally seemed as though Galen was okay with Krennic seeing more of his body.

He moved his fingers back to Galen's neck, pulling him down into a kiss, their first real one since the night before all of this had ever happened. Galen tasted like fresh mint, opening his mouth as soon as Krennic pressed against his lips with his tongue, and Krennic couldn't help a small groan at the contact that was swallowed up by Galen's mouth.

He didn't want to seem greedy, but it had been weeks. And before that, his body had been pressing him almost constantly for this sort of contact. He would go slow, for Galen's sake, but this was familiar territory. His mouth was hot and his hands that pushed Krennic's loose shirt off of his shoulders and wrapped around his back were a welcome touch that hinted at something more intimate.

"I've missed this." He said, pulling back. Galen was breathing hard, slightly panting and flushed, only nodding his agreement as Krennic pulled at the twin panels of his tunic covering his torso. He was sure it wasn't care or lust or whatever he was feeling that had led him to appreciate the sight in front of him. Galen, though he always seemed lean, had a thick layer of muscles up under his olive skin from his years of farm work. Krennic moved slow, starting at Galen's waistline, where his muscles made a hard v-cut into his trousers, and moved up, tracing over a defined abdomen, a chest that was covered with the perfect amount of hair to match the stubble on Galen's face, up to the strong shoulders that held his shirt up.

With very little trepidation, he pushed it back off Galen's body, running his hands back down his chest until they could rest right above his hips. He looked up to see Galen looking away from him, his face dark red with embarrassment. "Galen." Krennic said, and his friend glanced down, his dark eyes flickering downwards, but his face not turning. "Get on the bed."

Galen pulled back, Orson already missing the feel of his skin under his hands, but knowing this would be better anyhow. He turned off the light, turning on the small lamp be Galen's bed instead, and joined Galen, who was watching him almost warily. But he didn't give him the opportunity to ask questions, pinning him back, straddling his waist and legs with his own, pulling him into another kiss as their bodies pressed together in semi-darkness.

Krennic smiled against Galen's lips, running his hands along Galen's bare back whenever it was possible, turning them to pull the other man over top of him, keeping them pressed together as much as he could, or tracing Galen's defined features with his hands as much as he could, craving contact. Craving something that, after so long in pain, felt like a mixture of relief and pleasure.

"You're beautiful, Galen." He hears himself say at one point, no sarcasm or ulterior motive in his words since he knows this is a far as things would go that night. But he is simply telling the truth, looking down to trace a small, seemingly forgotten scar on Galen's left bicep as Galen hovers over him.

"I am not the only one." Galen replies after a few moments of his characteristic silence, and to keep Galen from seeing the blush that darkens his entire body, Krennic pulls him into another kiss, letting the added heat pass between them.


	18. Chapter 18

The end of term came quickly, and Galen had to admit he was ready for the solitude he hoped the summer might offer. Krennic's attack had made him a sort of celebrity, and Galen, as his roommate among other things had been dealing with a steady stream of people. He himself had begun attracting a large amount of unwanted attention as others began to pick up on the nature of his and Orson's relationship, and he would be glad when their whispers and stares would not be following him for nearly two months. Orson had seemed to notice, and had given him space as he needed it, taking his company out of the room and no longer trying to force Galen to interact with his other associates unless Galen showed direct interest. Which he never had.

He was happy, then, to sit at the same table he and Orson had watched each other at when Orson had decided to ask him to be his roommate at the conclusion of the term before. Orson was watching him now, one thumb pressed to his lips, the other's fingers drumming softly on the table. It was a rare moment when Galen knew Orson wasn't watching him, but instead the people milling around them, some who would return from summers spent at places where they would be employed in the near future, others who would never return and they probably would never hear from again. To Orson, it was fascinating, and Galen knew he could read the people's intentions and destinations by simply watching their movements, their body language, their interactions even though they were nonverbal to Orson. A rare treat for Orson to practice his already almost-perfected skills on.

But, even more to Galen, it was a rare moment where he could look at Orson unrestricted by the intense gaze that was usually returned to him. He could watch the slight fluttering of Orson's hair; many shades lighter than his own as it moved in the slight breeze created by the traffic around them. He could study Orson's skin, pale but not sickly in the fluorescent lights, he could look at the curve of his body as he turned to watch people moving and blush slightly at the knowledge that he had seen Orson's body curve in the same ways under him on his bed, or around him in quiet darkness on late nights. He could see Orson's serious expression, hinted at with a bit of mischievousness that effectively charmed most people he met, and watch as he was completely enthralled with the social game going on around him. His eyes could find the small scar that was exposed at the very tip by his tunic when it was only pulled loosely around his shoulders and let a sort of fierce protective anger he hadn't known he possessed burn low in his stomach.

But he had become better at watching, and at times like these, when it seemed at any moment that Orson would turn to say something to him, he kept his eyes mostly down, listening to the almost distracting but slightly comforting sound of Orson's fingers tapping as his refused to sit completely still. "How would you feel about a trip, Galen?"

That, Galen had not been expecting, and he looked up from where he had bene pretending to concentrate on a reading for his summer research. "A trip?" He got an uncomfortable feeling in his gut that Orson had some lavish vacation destination in mind for the week before they had to be officially back on site, though neither of them had bothered moving out their things. Galen because he had nowhere to go to, and Orson because he would rather not. He would not allow Orson to pay for him so lavish trip, no matter if they were involved or not.

"My father commed me yesterday." Orson said carefully, trying his best to sound carefree, though Galen could detect the difference in tone. "He wants me to return home to Lexrule for the small break."

"Oh." Galen said, and he was having memories to a dark night in their room what seemed like ages before, when he had watched Orson practically spit venom at his family before he had pulled Galen into a kiss that tasted of sugar and whiskey. Their first kiss, one that Galen was certain would be forever ingrained in his mind and his skin, that even now sent a small flush creeping over his body. He and Orson had been inching closer to physical intimacy, that much had become quite clear, particularly over the last few weeks. IF he had to be honest with himself, he wouldn't mind it, the thought made him avert his eyes and roll his shoulders, but Orson had distracted himself with his own thoughts and didn't notice.

"I asked him if I could bring a friend." Orson continued, his voice back to being measured, a true falseness decorating his words. "He said it would be fine." He looked at Galen now. "I thought you might like to join me."

Galen wasn't opposed to joining him, not really. A week spent on Lexrule could be nice, especially if spent in the company of Orson, whom he found himself drawn to almost continuously. But he could see something larger at stake here, even if he had not wanted to go, even if every fiber of his being had fought back against it and he had pushed and pushed and decided he would rather die that go to Lexrule, he would not be able to say no to the Orson Krennic that sat across from him now. Written in his face was a sort of almost fear, a quiet desperation that he would never voice, but Galen could see clearly.

"Of course, if you don't want to…" Orson's voice faltered now, even he couldn't help it at Galen's silence, and he looked away.

"Of course I will go." Galen said, reaching out to place a hand on Orson's now relentlessly loud fingers. "It will be fun." He said with a smile, even allowing his teeth to show.

Only a few hours later, they were arriving on Lexrule. Krennic had brought nothing with him but the candies he was so fond of and his schoolbag to continue work in preparation for the break. Galen had his case of clothes, his backpack, toiletries, and an extra pair of shoes in case they decided to do something adventurous or outdoors. Sativran City was phenomenal, and Galen watched outside the glass window of the ship as they settled down on a large landing pad. Brentaal was a large, bustling urban planet, but it had nothing on Lexrule, where even as he watched, massive shipments carrying goods both landed and took off from hundreds of pads across the landing station.

Orson was becoming far more anxious and had been wondering around the cabin for the better part of half an hour while Galen watched outside. Galen could hear him whispering to himself at certain points, but decided it was best not to ask what was wrong and simply kept his hands folded in his lap before they landed. Orson said little, other that excusing himself to go to other parts of the ship and pace when he would tire of looking at the same view.

When they finally did arrive, he only had one clipped sentence to offer Galen. "I apologize in advance for anything they say to you." And that had been enough to make Galen swallow hard as he followed him off the landing ramp with his meager belongings. He held his shoes in his hand, balancing his bags on his suitcase in the other, and watched the city around them as they stepped out of the ship. It was nothing like Grange, in fact, Galen thought there might be more people gathered around this single platform than he had ever seen together on Grange, even on market days. And elderly human woman smiled and waved at him from where she was selling official Lexrulian merchandise, and he couldn't help but smile back, even though it was clear she was trying to attract his attention as an outsider.

"Orson." He looked up at the call for his friend to see a rather odd sight. "Welcome home." The man's voice was not loud, and almost too high pitched to be imposing. There were no emotions in his words, no warmth there for his son's arrival. The woman next to him, who, from her blue eyes must have been Orson's mother, said nothing, and Galen could feel her eyes as though they were dissecting him from meters away.

"Father." Orson said, with his typical flair of fake enthusiasm that almost made Galen want to laugh. The last time he had heard that, Orson had been talking to a particularly uninteresting boy explain a theory incorrectly. "Mother. It's good to see you both."

He stopped in front of them, but neither party made any move towards each other. No embrace or even a handshake between the two men who stood in similarly impassive stances. "This is Galen."

This time, Orson's father did extend a hand, and Galen scrambled to set his shoes down to shake it, doing the same with Orson's mother. "Hello." He said, and he suddenly wanted to be very far away from them. "Thank you for allowing me to stay with you."

"It is nice to meet one of Orson's friends." His mother's voice was mellow, her tone rich like coffee, but with the same lack of emotion that his father's had possessed, though he suspected she was hiding something whereas the man simply did not care either way. He was beginning to get the feelings, from their gaze lingering longer on the worn patches on his uniform to the dark skin of his calloused hands, to his slightly crooked teeth, that they were finding him distasteful. It was the same look he had received from many of the students in the program. A look of entitlement, a look of disregard.

"We should go back to the house." Orson broke the moment of silence, and Galen could hear the anger in his tone. Evidently, he was not the only one to notice the way they were looking at Galen, and he couldn't help his ears from burning.

"Excellent." His father said, "It is good to have you home after a year away, Orson, there is much to discuss."

And he turned, leading them back to a sleek cruiser that caught the light off of everything that gleamed around them on the platform. Galen followed slightly behind Orson, almost wishing he could get back on the transport and return to Brentaal instead of spending a week with people who clearly did not want him here, but he kept moving, keeping his eyes on Orson's ever-elongating curls as he boarded the cruiser behind him.

He set his bags along the wall, sitting next to Orson in a row of seats behind his parents, which clearly indicated they were not planning on talking on the way back to the house. Galen sighed softly, but was happy he could at least look out the window at the city he hoped he might have a chance to explore. Perhaps it would have a pastry shop like the one on Brentaal and he could get one of those spice cakes that Orson seemed to love so well, or another Danish that had been almost too sweet to eat. He felt Orson's hand ghost over his leg, before stopping to press their palms together, intertwining their fingers together. He glanced over, but Orson was looking out the window of his own side of the cruiser in an attempt to not look at him. So instead, he gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and was reminded that though this trip would be difficult, he was not hear for himself and hoped that that might give him strength.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for almost 100 Kudos and all your comments, they always make my day! Hope you enjoy! :)

Galen watched as his host family sat in silence above what promised to be an excellent tasting, but miserable dinner. His introduction to the Krennic home had been a long trip through winding hallways that gleamed with modern taste, and a brief depositing of his things in one of the many bedrooms spread on the upper floor of the home. It was beautiful, his bed decorated with finery in a rich brown and red color scheme that matched the room decorations perfectly. Each room they went in had its own unique appeal, and color scheme and taste that all blended together to form a home that did not quite fit together but were that way all the same. He was starting to get the same feeling about dinner, in which the silence between people was broken only by Orson's mother who would occasion speak commands into a device on the table that Krennic had briefly explained linked her directly to the hospital coordinator across the city. She ran most of the operations on site, but had to manage some when she was at their home.

Orson's father would watch her pointedly during these short respites, and Galen could see why Orson was so good at reading people. He would have had little else to do in a childhood of silent dinners than try to riddle out the subtle expressions across these two faces. He could not decide who they disliked more: each other, or himself, watching them with trepidation.

"The soup is excellent." He said, and all three sets of eyes turned on him, Orson's wide with surprise, his parents narrowing slightly. "I have never had this kind of vegetable before." He poked at what he thought might be a squash floating in his soup before taking a bite of it to show his genuine enthusiasm. The food was quite good, and he could appreciate it, even with the very controlled silence.

"What is it that your family does, Galen?" Orson's father now took the opportunity to ask questions, and Galen was almost sorry that he had spoken at all. He watched Orson's eyes close in slight contempt at his father's question, his face turned away as his lips pressed into a tight line of anger.

Galen swallowed his squash, looking down at the table briefly before forcing himself to look in the eyes of the elder Mr. Krennic. "My parents are both dead. They were farmers on Grange before that."

"Yes, I remember Orson telling me about your mother." Though Orson and Galen had water in their glasses, Orson's father tipped a wineglass to his lips, deep red and rich. "What is it then, that you are planning to do with your life, Galen? Surely not farming."

Galen had never considered himself particularly attached to Grange, or the earth that had settled permanently in the skin of his hands, the days spent in almost blinding sunlight that had given him his olive complexion. But now, seeing what other options could have been, with this inerrant coldness and a false pretense of care that seemed to have overtaken this family, he was quite proud of the moments he could remember being pulled into close hugs against the rough wool of his mother's shawl. The taste of a saved-for and labored-over cake that he got to eat once a year on Grange's Founding Day. The birthdays he had forgotten about because they couldn't celebrate, but how his mother would let him take part of the day to go to market, go to the library and read for a time instead of spending the day only in the fields. And now, hearing the disdain for farming from this man's lips, to hear him lambast his childhood, even perhaps unintentionally, he could feel the anger swelling in his throat.

"I plan on doing whatever best suits my abilities." He answered, more defiantly that he intended, and watched as the man's nostrils flared slightly.

"Well, then perhaps the galaxy will be a better place for it." Was the response, and after he set his wine glass back on the coaster, keeping his eyes on Galen, who had to work incredibly hard to keep his open and within the man's gaze. "After all, we can't all have the same level of success. There is not crime in an…honest…living." If Galen was angry at the tone, he hardly had time to react before Orson did.

"What?" The thinly veiled anger was gone, replaced by pure rage. "What would possess you to say that?"

"Orson." His father said, his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise and even his mother moved her eyes from the screen in front of her to observe her son with the same blue gaze that Galen was familiar with when he knew Orson was trying hard to figure something out that was of particular difficulty.

"You know nothing of Galen." He said, his voice on the verge of shouting, his accent even more defined.

"It is alright, Orson." Galen offered softly, his friend turning wild eyes to him for a moment.

"No, it isn't." He stood from the table, looking back to his father, "I came here because you asked me to. Not so you could belittle Galen with false assumptions." His hands were fisted on the table, and Galen was amazed at the floodgate that seemed to have burst forth.

"Past records are against him." His father said, seemingly unperturbed by his son's borderline violent outburst. "Scholarship students rarely make it far after school, Orson. I'm sure Galen here understands that the odds are against him. Don't pretend you didn't bring him here to goad your mother and I."

"Goad you into what, exactly?" Galen was now fully aware that this argument was no longer about him. That the conversation he was observing and seemed to be the central figure of had little to do with him at all. "Actually caring about something in my life?"

"I don't care who you associate with, Orson, as long as the money I'm affording to send you through this program doesn't amount to nothing." His father said, his voice escalating to begin to match Orson's. "Of all the people you could choose to bring home, you choose the one person that you hoped would garner a reaction. It is obvious, Orson." The words dropped like lead between them. "Sit down."

But Orson didn't sit down, or move, or do anything other than stand and wrap his fists tight around the back of his chair and glare daggers at his father. The accusations being lobbed in Galen's direction were starting to hit Galen, who could feel himself blushing uncomfortably. The truth was that the man did have some excellent points. Perhaps one of the hundreds of scholarship students that had graduated from Brentaal had been successful in their lives beyond attaining some entry level job. To be fair, he was doing more in terms of research and theory development than any of them had, but the odds were against him.

"I brought Galen here because I was under the impression that for once in my life, you might care about something important to me." He was now talking at them, eyes moving back and forth between them. "It seems I was wrong."

He turned and Galen watched his back disappear out the dining room, ignoring the butler who was delivering their final course. But Galen rose as well. "Thank you for dinner." He said, and moved as their angry eyes watched him and followed Orson into a house he know understood he was not welcome at.

He found Orson in his room, one of their last stops on Galen's earlier tour. He was sitting on the bed, and Galen paused in the doorway to silently observe him, though he knew that his friend knew he was there. Orson's room was impeccably decorated, and impeccably clean. It would have to be, with the drapes, the soft rugs, the bedspread, the aesthetic in a pure shade of white, with only small bits of black interlaced in a soft color scheme. Orson stuck out quite well in his rich green tunic, and Galen thought this might make an excellent portrait, with thick lines of white paint around his dark green clothes brushed on in quick strokes that would show the anger and wide curves that might illustrate the sadness.

"I'm sorry, Galen." He said, and the words were so similar to how Orson had said them at his mother's funeral, that his own anger at the situation lessened. Orson needed help at the moment far more than he, and if he was being honest, there was only so far that harsh words could throw him. "I should have known he would say something." Orson's eyes were on him now, watching him standing in the doorway with some sort of irreparable guilt and sadness on his face.

Galen moved out of the doorway, shutting it gently behind him, and moved to sit beside Orson, feeling the soft mattress cover sink beneath their combined weights. He didn't speak, he had never been, and would never be, as good as Orson at having the correct thing to say. But that didn't mean he couldn't be present. "He won't understand you, Galen. He won't see your potential, and he has never seen mine. He wants me to return here, take over the banking systems he has set in place because he thinks I won't ever be able to do anything else." Orson let out a breath, sounding a hair's breadth away from breaking down in front of Galen, who was well aware he would be ill-equipped to handle it. "He thinks my goals are illogical and that I can't achieve them. He sent me to Brentaal with the expectation I would fail and come home, that he could keep from the success I know I'm meant to have Galen."

He took in another breath, his hands tightening into fits on his duvet cover, rumpling the expensive fabric between large fingers. "He thinks I'm meant to stay here, that this is all I can ever be because to do something different means I'm better than him. Better than both of them." Galen watches him stand, turned away from him. He lets his arms on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him, Orson doesn't sound particularly angry anymore. He sounds determined. Determined and sad. "Am I just kidding myself, Galen?" He almost whispers, and that creeping doubt has come back to his voice. A horrible, grating sense of self-loathing that Galen is all too familiar with.

He stands, and curves his hand around a familiar shoulder so that Orson will face him. He says nothing, but loops his arms around him, pulling him close to him, letting him hide what Orson will see as shameful emotions in Galen's shoulder as he returns the embrace, his breathing heavy. "Another man once told me something, Orson." He says softly into the ear that is hidden by a frock of light brown curls. "That others would always see us as lesser because of where we come from." He heard Orson's breathing start to slow, the verge of his breakdown at least pushed back for now. "You told me it didn't matter. That what they thought didn't matter, and someday, you would prove to them that it didn't."

He could feel the slight turn of Orson's head, turning as the thought either soothed him or brought out that fierceness that Galen had seen before. "It is not up to your parents, Orson. And I know you can decide to do great things." Orson pulled back his head, his blue eyes burning into Galen. "I have seen you do them." His voice dropped to a low whisper.

"You will, too, you know?" Orson answered, reaching up to trace his turning over Galen's lips at his shy smile that he returned. "You have the most incredible mind I have seen, Galen. The galaxy will be ours someday." There was that slight gleam it Orson's gaze that gave Galen pause and made him wonder exactly what Orson was referring to. But now was not the time for doubts of himself, or of his closest friend. There was too much at stake, too much pulling them together to try and drive them apart.

Galen leaned forward, keeping his eyes open for a second longer to watch Krennic's blue ones close as they kissed. Unlike earlier, when his eyes had glowed angry, they now seemed alive only with a familiar look of desire for intimacy that Galen was more than willing to offer. But closed, they seemed almost gentle, Orson Krennic seemed almost vulnerable, and Galen couldn't help but smile as he opened his mouth at Orson's insistence.

How long they kissed, it was hard to say. It didn't feel heavy with promises, or a lead-in to anything at the moment. They had been informed that the entire family, along with Galen, would be attending a show in the city later that evening, but neither was in a rush to end things, and when Orson did finally pull back, Galen couldn't help but move his hand from where it had been tangled in Orson's hair to trace the curve of his slightly swollen lips that were parted with heavy breathing.

"We should go downstairs." He said, keeping his hand around the curve of Orson's face that was becoming gradually more defined as they both began to look older. So different from their first conversation in the library about physics. He ran his thumb along his angled jaw. So different and yet they had changed together. "I will follow you."

"Will you always?" Orson said, with a slight smirk that might have been a joke, but that Galen could see the truth laced into his words. The question that he would never dare to ask another person, truly, he could never make himself be that vulnerably in the truest sense. He took Galen's hand, pulled him towards the door.

Yes." Galen said softly in reply, feeling that if the rest of his life were like this, there were far worse things that could happen to a man from Grange. Orson said nothing, squeezing his fingers gently before letting him go as they reached the stairs. Galen smiled, knowing there would be rough moments to come, but gentle moments to follow.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're 20 chapters in, and it's getting real people. This is the longest chapter I have written so far, and plan to do some higher rated outtakes soon, as the story progresses along. Thank you all for your support, your kudos, and your reviews (which both make my day and provide inspiration). I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

He thought he might be sinking into a cloud, or perhaps drowning in the surplus threads that his sheet was woven from. Every subtle shift in his body seemed to pull him further into the bed, and the more pointed parts of his body, his shoulders, hips, knees, and elbows, would sink in further. He might have thought it felt nice after the stiffness of his Program mattress, but each time he would sink, it would seem that comforter would threaten to fill his nostrils with fabric and he had to turn on his back to keep his face from overheating. He sighed, wondering how it must feel to always be surrounded by this kind of finery.

His room in the light was different shades of rich dark red and brown, and as he turned, he could see the lights of Sativran City casting dark shadows across all of the items in here. The piece lamps that added dark splashes of color, the soft rugs that he was glad to see were the perfect size for his suitcase and backpack to rest on. It was a lovely room, but he found himself missing his and Orson's room back on Brentaal, with the desk that was perfectly neat, but also covered with his papers that held all of his thoughts. Of Orson's star chart map that so often cast dim light over them while they worked in tandem.

He closed his eyes and turned his mind to that room in the hope it might make it easier to sleep. He let his mind wander, as it had before he and Orson had first become involved, and he could feel his skin heating the with the thoughts that came to his mind, both memory and fantasy intertwining to give him a rather pleasant set of thoughts, his skin flushing against the soft fabric. He was minutes, perhaps, from a sleep full of pleasant dreams when he heard the knob turn on his door. His brain kicked into hyperdrive, and he sat up straight, slightly panicking at the dark form in his room.

But the same light that had shone through his window now illuminated a familiar figure, wearing pajama pants and a think shirt that covered his torso. "Orson?" He asked, sleepiness settling back over him as he calmed, instead blushing at his semi-present arousal, though he doubted Orson could see it at this point. "Are you alright?"

He looked harder, his vision getting clearer the longer the longer he looked at Orson. His hair, which had been neatly combed for their trip to the show, was back to its wild mop that he was used to seeing every morning when Orson would get ready for the day. "I couldn't sleep." He said, and stood for a moment uncomfortable in the doorway. "Could I stay in here with you?"

It would not be the first time that they had shared a bed. Exhausted from certain nighttime activities, they would on occasion fall asleep in either bed, one waking before the other and leaving the shared warmth. "Of course." Galen said, and scooted back to make room for Orson on the bed. He was bushing furiously at the thoughts he had just been having, thoughts that had started with images so similar to this, but he tamped them down in an attempt to hide that fact from Orson who was joining him on the bed that more than large enough for two people.

"Thank you." He said, and though there was more than enough room for them to spread out and sleep completely apart, Orson pressed into Galen's side, his back to him as he burrowed under the comforter until only his nose and a tuft of light brown hair stuck out from underneath it. Galen couldn't be sure, but he had thought, before Orson looked away, that his eyes had been swollen and red, perhaps from crying. But it would only hurt to ask, so instead he sighed and let himself settle back into his sleep cycle, trying his best to keep the same thoughts that had soothed him earlier out of his head.

Galen woke early, unlike his usual cycle on Brentaal when he preferred to go for long walks at night to help with his insomnia rather than get up at such an early hour as Orson. But he never had slept for a long periods of time, and now was no exception. The air around him was cool with the feel of early morning, pale light showed everything in a dim wash around him. But he wasn't nearly as concerned with that as he was with his current sleeping arrangement.

At some point in the night, either one or both of them had curled him and Orson together in the middle of the bed. Orson was lying, half-covering him with his body, his head resting on Galen's bare chest while his body moved up and down slowly in time with deep breaths. He groaned lightly as Galen woke up, in a light enough sleep that Galen's slight motions disturbed him, but he did not wake, instead moving his arm further up Galen's body to drape more firmly across his chest. But even more than this, Galen was acutely aware that Orson's legs were entangled with his own, his thigh almost brushing against the front of Galen's sleep pants, which he could feel now were a bit tight due to the nature of morning. Not that the situation he was in was helping any, in fact, it was doing quite the opposite and keeping him from successfully relaxing his body as Orson continued to move against him, in the process of waking.

He wondered vaguely if Orson was in the same state, if being pressed this close to him, Galen half-naked, had the same effects on him at all. He felt his skin warm at the thought of it, a half-smile crossing his face as he shifted his body to tighten his hold around Orson. He closed his eyes, thinking that even if he couldn't get anymore sleep at the moment, it was worth staying like this to simply share this moment with Orson.

He was starting to feel a sort of whiplash. There were moments like this, where everything seemed peaceful and full of a gentle caring that Galen might dare to call love. He glanced down at Orson's still face at the thought, his ears burning at the unrealistic expectation that his friend might have heard his thought. But of course, there was no reaction from him. But then there were moments of almost desperation, when their relationship seemed far less about them and more about their potential to change the galaxy around them. When Orson's eyes would light with a fire that Galen had rarely seen otherwise, and his candor was that of a politician or a man inflamed on his own image.

But he had decided, months ago when they were discussing their break internships, that he would choose to see Orson in those moments as the smiling man who stood behind them. That the fire was simply a byproduct of genuine excitement and development and there was nothing to fear because it would never burn out of control. Fire consumed, and he had chosen not to believe that this fire might consume them.

"Mmm." He heard a grumble from the body draped across his chest, and opened his eyes again to the ceiling. "Galen?" He smiled at Orson's voice, his accent far more prominent that usual in his sleepy state. "What time is it?"

"Only slightly past dawn." He said, absentmindedly ran a hand along Orson's back as he started to wake more fully, only realizing his full motion after he had completed it. "You can stay asleep."

"Breakfast." The same voice grumbled, and he couldn't help the short laugh he gave in response, covering his face with his free hand. He felt a chin press to his chest and looked down to see Orson smiling at him.

"I would kiss you, Galen, but my breath is not it's best, and I need to go back to my own room." He said, and Galen acknowledged that his own breath was probably not much better, but now seemed like a very poor time to decide to care.

"It is okay." He said, and waited on Orson to start to get up so he could go shower as well, but the body that held him to the bed stayed put, and he felt Orson's forehead press to his chest, his curls tickling the skin there. "You don't seem in a hurry to leave."

"Are you?" Came a muffled reply, more like the voice he recognized. Perfectly level, with just a touch of an accent to give it an interesting sound. He sighed, everything was part of a persona, and it was only in those rare moments that it disintegrated.

"No." Galen answered softly, running his hand again along Orson's covered spine, tracing it with his fingers. But after only a few brief moments, he did shift and stand, half-pulling the blanket off of Galen as he went.

"They don't know about this part of our relationship." Orson said, looking at him, any traces of sleep gone as his mind had moved to other things.

"No one does to my knowledge." Orson nodded in agreement, but pressed his thumbs to his lips as he often did when he was thinking hard.

"You know…" He paused, looking at Galen, and even in the pale-washed light, he could see the blush creeping up his neck. "You do know I didn't bring you here to get a reaction from them, Galen." Galen nodded. What others might think of Orson Krennic, he could only guess. What he knew of the man in front of him was an entirely different set of realities that lent themselves to moments like the one they had just shared. He had never thought Orson might bring him here to get a reaction from his parents, partially because he did not want to even consider that possibility, and partly because he knew in his mind that that was not the intention. He wanted them to spend time together.

"Okay." He rubbed one hand against his neck. "After breakfast, I'm supposed to spend the day with my father. I thought you might want to explore the city."

"Okay." said Galen, not knowing what else to respond with. It would be a cold day in Hell before Orson's father invited him to work with them, and he had been looking forward to getting to explore.

"There's a card in the dresser you can use. It's full access to the transportation systems here and in town. It links to my parent's accounts in case you get hungry or something…" Orson was talking about all of this casually as if these were things he and Galen discussed everyday. Galen nodded, reaching across himself to pull open the drawer to find the card placed there with his name and picture illuminated on the front as a temporary user.

"I thought tonight you and I could go somewhere…exceptional." Galen cocked his head, and knowing it would make Orson happy, he smiled a genuine smile at the thought.

"Okay." He agreed. "But breakfast first." And he began to stand as Orson stepped out of the room, his own smile on his face.

Breakfast turned out to be a very brief affair, with Orson's mother already having left for the day and his father in a rush to get to the banking system due to some extenuating and continual financial crisis. He didn't acknowledge Galen as he hadn't at the Opera the night before, and both he and Orson left before Galen had finished his starches.

He was now in their home with the various servants for company. He had taken it upon himself to make his own bed after he showered, as he did every morning at the Program, and had thoroughly surprised the elderly woman who had come to do it for him. She had smiled, and patted him on the hand, telling him what a nice young man he was. He had been very uncomfortable, but had resisted the urge to pull away from her. At the end, the small mint that had been destined for his pillow had ended up pressed into his palm and she had shuffled away to tend to other things. The other servants, butlers, cooks and maids, had taken a keen interest in him. He had no doubt that at least one of them had noticed Orson's nocturnal stay in his room, and had even less doubt that word of it had gotten around.

He sighed, hoping they didn't see him as the 'interesting' affair of a rich man who wanted to push boundaries, which he knew was exactly how Orson's father saw the friendship, let alone if he knew about the probably relationship. Regardless, he tidied up his own dishes, wiping any scraps form his plate in neat circles so that the plate only needed sanitized. He was halfway through this ritual when he felt a pair of eyes on him, a woman picking up the dishes that both Krennics had left behind staring hard at his back. He looked away quickly, setting his plate down and bounding up the stairs before she had the chance to say anything to him.

He took his bag with him, deciding it was better to have it in case the mood struck him to work along one of the bustling streets of cafes or restaurants or libraries that he walked through. He gazed in windows as he exited the trains, watched people mill around him by the thousands, but was able to keep to his own little place. He garnered attention from some, from what he knew were his uncharacteristic looks. High cheekbones, dark hair, olive skin, dark eyes. He did not look like the Lexrulians that were milling around, but he was not the only outsider their either. Non-human sentients were plentiful, and he passed many bars that were alive with music from worlds he could recognize as beyond this one.

It was then that caused him to stop first, outside of a store where the front was not written in Basic, but who was decorated in musical signatures. He pushed open the door to a tinkling of a small bell, and an elderly looking human woman, silver hair pulled up in an elaborate up-do on top on her head, almond-shaped glasses covering her eyes. She smiled at him with her perfectly straight teeth and blue eyes, a native of the planet for sure. He was the only one in the shop.

"Looking for something specific?"

"No," he replied softly, lowering his gaze. The showroom floor was covered with instruments, propped up with small benches to play them, the walls decorated with packets of both cheap and fine strings, reeds, keys, replacement parts for instruments, and equipment to build one's own. He was awash with a wave of memories, of going into the town center on Grange when he was around three years old, and seeing the large keyboard there for the first time.

He had been with his mother, she was applying for farming permits of some sort, but he had been pulled away from her side by the music. He could remember closing his eyes, hearing the sway of the tempo as the amateur pianist missed the occasional note, but otherwise played beautifully. He could remember walking away from her, standing by the bench to look at the book of music the man was playing, dressed in a small, dirty tunic. He remembered swaying and instantly attaching where the man was playing on the page with the sounds it could create. It was beautiful, so beautiful, and he could remember that moment of discovery.

His mother had come over to him, put a hand on his shoulder and apologized, which the younger man had shrugged off with a look at the younger Galen as he kept playing. His mother had pushed lightly on his back, trying to guide him away, but he had refused. "No." He had said, and closed his eyes again to the music. Galen had said his first word, up until then assumed entirely nonverbal. Incredible intelligence, but never had a word passed his lips, but even to his three-year-old mind, the music he had heard had been too important.

The rest had come easily. His mother, overjoyed at the fact that he had spoken, had let him stay there. After she explained briefly, with almost sobs of excitement, the man had let Galen sit on the bench and let him press the keys into the instrument, his fingers barely large enough to be able to do so. But it had been incredible, and though it had meant much extra work the next day on the farm, it had been worth it.

The rest he had learned in the sparse time that he had. Grange children were not required to go to school after they learned the basics of reading and writing and mathematics and agriculture. Beyond that, unless you were the child of Grange's Senator, who had been sent to an Academy, often times schooling happened at home with parents who had the same level of education as the children that graduated at age nine or so. For him, he had entered already knowing how to read and write and do math and farm appropriately, but no one had known this because he had always been delayed in speech. He had wondered, now that he was older, if he had done it on intention. For the most part, the teacher's in the school had given up on his progress, and he was allowed to go to the small music room with most of his time while wealthier or slower children continued to scramble over letters or digits.

Music had been his first love, his first passion. He had learned to play in only a few days, and by the time the operator of the school realized that his mathematics scores were well beyond that of an ordinary nine-year old, he had become an expert at all six of the instruments the school owned. He played until he would realize that someone was watching him with almost trepidation. But now, standing in this shop with this woman he did not know, he was once again surrounded by an opportunity that had alluded him since his travels to Brentaal where the musical compositions he used to scribble into the hard packed dirt outside of their old house had given way to multi-colored notes that exposed further parts of a genius he was hardly comfortable possessing.

"You can try one out if you like." He must have bene thinking to himself for longer than he thought, and nodded quickly, blushing while the woman gave him an affectionate smile. "It's rare we get younger people in here. Usually people my age." He smiled at her, but if she was surprised by his slight imperfection, she didn't acknowledge it.

He moved to the keyboard, the first he had learned to play, and pressed fingers to the keys. To his relief, it was perfectly in tune. So often, the instruments he had found in public venues, or even in private places, played sour notes at first probing and he wouldn't have time to stay and tune this one. His fingers found the start of his key and he began to play the first song that came fully to his memory. It was a love ballad, of two people fighting on opposites sides of a war that had long since been forgotten. He had never learned the words, if truth be told, he could not remember ever singing out loud, but the melody came to him all the same. It was low and haunting, in a soft minor key that would lend itself to dimly lit rooms or resting with a loved one. It was beautiful, and he found himself swaying to it, an old habit that seemed impossible to break.

"How long have you been playing?" He hadn't noticed the woman come up behind him, but even though he was startled, he finished the song on its last few sweet notes.

"Since I was almost four." He said.

"Do you have one of these?" He shook his head, and kept his eyes down, removing his fingers from the key. There was a part of him that yearned badly for one of these for his own, and someday, he thought he might have one. His mind glimpsed briefly to an image of himself playing that same ballad, and Orson standing behind him, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding a glass of wine. It was such a pleasant thought that he could feel his ears burning for having thought of it, though this woman would be none the wiser.

"No." He said, "I hope that someday I might afford one."

"Are you in school?" She said, "You look the right age. What are you going for?"

"Engineering," He replied, a little taken aback by this woman's questions, but she was not unfriendly. In fact, he suspected she was impressed with his playing, and had been rather bored before his arrival.

"Oh, honey, you'll be able to get one soon then." She said and stepped away from him, her silver sparkling tunic catching lights that were illuminated in the shape of time signatures. "Here." She had him a small package. "You keep that, and come back and see me when you graduate." She smiled at him, her lips unnaturally red against her teeth.

He looked in his hand, a holo-net address and a small, piano ornament were sitting in his palm, engraved with the name of the shop. It was beautifully crafted, perfectly to scale, and the exact style he would have chosen in an actual model.

"Thank you." He said, "I will do that." And he placed the little model in the protected pocket of his bag before starting to make his way out, the woman humming the tune he had played behind him.

He stood in his guest room, arranging the piano so it would align perfectly with the corner of the desk. He could not help but continue to smile at it, he had always wanted a piano and even if his fingers could not dance over the keys like he wished for them to, it was a beautiful start and a thoughtful gift that reinforced for him the kindness of strangers.

"Are you ready to go?" He heard Orson's voice behind him, and turned to see Orson dressed far more casually than he had been that morning, still refined, but not uptight. His face was pulled in stressed lines though, evidence of a day spent holding his tongue. Galen grabbed the small box from the desk, in it a set of spice cakes after he had finally managed to find a bakery in the long strip of stores, and watched Orson's face light up at the gift inside, though he laid it back on the nightstand. .

"Yes." He said, and Orson smiled, looking quizzically at the small piano, but not asking. Galen knew because he had something perhaps more important on his mind.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! ;) Perfect timing, if I do say so myself! Sorry for posting twice in one day, I just had it in me :) Outtake coming soon! Enjoy! Please R and R, your comments make me day :)

Orson had been more than right: this place was exceptional. It was a cave, and thought their were pieces of fine furniture, a couch, a bed, some silken blankets that Orson had obviously had placed here, it retained its ethereal beauty as the walls glowed, bright enough to illuminate the man standing in front of him, but dark enough so that that same light wouldn't be overwhelming.

"They aren't kyber crystals." Orson said, reaching up to run his fingers along where a clear shard of the glowing rock extended. "But I thought you might like it." He said, looking back at Galen, smiling almost smugly. Galen wasn't quite sure how to express how much he liked it, how he had never thought he might be standing in a place like these. No, these weren't kyber, they didn't burn with the same heated energy, but that did not keep them from being extraordinary. He reached his hands out and grinned, watching Orson's face light up at the action.

"I used to come here," He said, "when I needed to get away for a while. I spent a lot of time here on breaks last year. A lot less overwhelming than being back there." He gestured roughly to his home, and moved to sit on the bed, leaning his back against the cool stone. "It used to be a commercial mine, but once they got the ore out they just left it here. It came with the property when we bought it."

Galen sat down next to him, removing his shoes carefully and placing them on the rug. The air was cool on his feet, but the bed was soft and warm. Not as soft as his bed in the house had been, but soft enough that he sank lightly into it and found himself being rolled towards Orson's weight.

"It is beautiful." Galen said, looking up above him at the clear crystals inlaid in the wall. A living mural, carved by nature and beings who had passed through. A remnant of an ever-changing galaxy that he and Orson could now share together. He was almost mesmerized, and could feel Orson watching him, a small smile on his face. "How was your day?"

Orson let out a dry laugh, and Galen looked over at him, his eyes red, realizing now that it probably had not been a good question. "A day spent with my father is always an interesting day to say the least." He responded. "But it could have been worse. He was mostly civil after the incident at dinner last night. And I did get to meet some higher ups from the Core World banking systems, gave them my information, invited them to Brentaal. It wasn't a waste." He let out a long breath before he turned to Galen, his eyes glittering in the glow all around them. "How was yours then?"

"Fascinating." Galen said, and though Orson looked like he might have thought Galen was being sarcastic, he had never said anything more truthful. The city, with its bustling shops but quiet corners, the pastry shop that smelled of both baking bread and the sweet flowers from the capital garden, the people that had milled around him in an almost apathetic way had been an incredible change of pace from his normal routine. But most of all, he thought of the music shop. "Have you ever been to the music store in the center of the city? Next to the library."

"No." Orson responded, shaking his head in turn, his curls bobbing. "I don't know how to play anything."

"It is beautiful." Galen said. "I played the piano for the first time in years."

"Is that where you got the tchotchke?" Orson asked, and was clearly relieved Galen had brought it up so he could ask.

"The woman gave it to me. She told me to return and buy a real one from her when I graduated school and had the money."

Orson said nothing for a moment, watching Galen hard, clearly trying to riddle something out. "I have always wanted one. I think it will be the first thing I get when I graduate." He said, and nodded as if to solidify that agreement with himself.

"Not an apartment. A piano." He laughed then, at himself, covering his mouth shyly when he realized that he was being silly.

"Perhaps an apartment for it to go in." Galen agreed, and looked over at Orson, who's lips were upturned in his half-smile. He had something mischievous planned, Galen could see it in his eyes, but what it was, he couldn't begin to say. "But who knows if that will work out." He was being far more talkative than he had been in a long time, relieved, he assumed, at being out of the house. Caught up in the mystic wonder of the cave around them, the soft blue blankets, the warmth of Orson next to him, who had his hand now resting on the upper part of Galen's leg, warmth radiating out from just that simple touch.

"You don't doubt that you'll find work, do you?" Orson asked, the same fire of anger lighting up in his eyes. "Ignore my father, Galen, he doesn't know anything about you."

"I know," Galen said. "Neither does anyone else." He paused for a moment, pursing his lips. "Except for you." The last year of his life came tumbling to him. The physics class, the key card packet, the kiss that had seemed like an almost dream, the unconventional thoughts, the hours spent sitting across from Orson in the lab, their more recent interactions that were heated but controlled. His earlier trip to the store when he had thought of what the future might hold for them together, an easy life, one where they could be together and live in a world that might finally accept them.

He looked at Orson, his mind buzzing with images where it normally did with figures or notes. Orson seemed happy. A strange sort of happy, like the fact that he enjoyed that he was the only one who truly knew Galen, a distant look on his face. "I can show them, Galen. Together, we can do incredible things." He said, not bothering to whisper like he normally did when he said this sort of thing. The noise reverberated around the cave as Orson turned to him fully, pressing against him.

"We'll have a piano." He said, still smiling, so close to Galen that Galen could smell the hint of sugar candy overlaid with mint on his lips. "A place of our own in one of the finest cities." He looked down and laced his fingers together with Galen's, keeping them balanced on Galen's leg. "I'll give you everything, Galen. The crystals. The Stars. The galaxy."

Galen could feel his breath changing, quicker at Orson's closeness, at the inflection of his words that seemed to not only echo in the space, but reverberate into his soul. He could picture it: a happy life, a good life. His research, living in a house of Orson's design. Perhaps a child, one he could hold close to his chest as he played all the lullabies his fingers remembered on their piano. It was all so very easy to think of, so very easy to see.

"But first," Orson's voice was low now, almost dangerously thick, "I want to try something, Galen." He waited on a response, looking into Galen's eyes as he put himself fully between them.

"Okay." Said Galen, and pulled him into a kiss.

* * *

Orson was sleeping, once again draped on top of him, though this time it was in the small cave rather than in their bedroom. Galen ran a hand through Orson's slightly sweaty mop of curls, tracing that same hand over the skin of his back, taking time to feel the dips and curves that were along his path. He was exhausted himself, and knew that the next day would bring another set of trials as they dealt with the consequences of this, but he did not care. For once, he was not anxious about the interactions the next day might bring.

Instead, he simply enjoyed the feel of Orson's bare body pressed fully against his own, wrapped around him in a way that felt both protective and needing of protection that Galen was happy to offer. He looked down at Orson's back, shoulder, one of the only parts of him not covered by the blanket he had pulled up around them, and traced the glow of the crystals off the freckles on his skin. It was amazing to him how peaceful Orson Krennic could look, especially when his body had not stopped racing until long after Orson had collapsed on him after they were finished.

The idea of sex wasn't foreign to Galen. And he knew well that it wasn't foreign to Orson, who had enjoyed many other partners even in the time that Galen had known him. But this was more than sex, or at least he thought so, and the idea of intimacy was a whole separate issue to tackle altogether. If truth be told, he knew he wasn't good with affection, or articulation, or any number of other things that happy couples in cheap holovids always seemed to excel at. But Orson had not cared when they had started this venture, and, judging by everything, didn't care now. Intimacy came with its own set of fears and anxieties that Galen could now say rested as easy as his partner as his body began to settle into the warmth that surrounded him.

He pulled an arm up around Orson in a sleep embrace. "I love you." He thinks he might have only thought it, or perhaps he did whisper it into the mess of hair below his chin. Either way, as he drifts into pleasant dreams, he smiles and holds tight to the sleeping form around him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks y'all, always, for reading! Thanks for those who gave shoutouts on tumblr as well, I really appreciate it and am so glad that you all like the story! As always, R and R, let me know what you think :)

"When is your life day, Galen?" Galen placed his chin on Krennic's shoulder, saying nothing. After a moment his lips pressed to the soft skin as well, but no words came past his mouth. Instead, his arms tightened around Krennic, pulling him back closer against his chest, which was only partially covered by an unbuttoned shirt, courtesy of his current bed partner. Galen was warm, his hand warm though Krennic's thin shirt, his back warm, pulled flush against him to the point that his mind trailed in other directions and he almost thought it might be best to come back the question later.

"Don't distract me, Galen." He whispered, turning his head to kiss Galen's jaw, moving his other hand back to trace along the fine line of stubble. It was amazing to think that only a few short minutes ago both of them had been wrapped up in work, charts and graphs and datapads now displaced to the floor or desk. The only reminder of their venture was the small piano ornament Galen had gotten on Lexrule. Since his desk had become covered in various pieces of equipment and crystal fragments and books, he had taken to working with his other things spread on his bed. Each time he would move, he would move the tiny piano from its designated place on his desk to one of his bedposts, where it just caught the light from their lamp and the gold writing embossed on it would glitter almost distractingly.

Krennic was fascinated by this. Such a tiny object that Galen hadn't even paid for was now an almost essential part of his routine. He had never known Galen to be attached to much of anything other than Krennic himself, and to see him move the piano with such care, flicking pieces of dust off of it with long fingers so as to keep it clean, was endearing to say the least. He knew Galen knew that he would simply watch him sometimes over the guise of reading a book, but he couldn't help it. His feelings towards Galen were only expanding, pushing past anything he had ever felt for anyone, including other sexual partners and even other flings he had never bothered to keep up with for more than few months at the longest. This was so very different.

He would watch Galen labor over his piano, rearranging it when a slight tremor might shake the building unexpectedly. He would bear quiet witness to Galen's workings over the crystal fragments he brought back to the room, suspending them on a metal contraption while he measured their energy output through a magnetic device that Krennic hadn't known the school even owned. He would watch his dark eyes light up at the work he was doing, hear his voice talking sometimes to no one in particular about what he was witnessing. Galen Erso was fascinating, and had become Krennic's favorite thing to see.

But when he loved most to watch Galen, besides the time when he would be so entranced by a particular bit of information that when Krennic would ghost fingers of his neck, it would startle him comically, was when he was like this. When he would allow himself to be open, to be vulnerable, to feel fully everything he was feeling. From their first time together in the cave, when every one of Galen's words seemed to be writ into his skin, to the times that followed on Lexrule to the times they had now shared in their room, he was obsessed with the changing flush of Galen's skin, of the way his dark eyes would get even darker as he looked into Krennic's even as he smiled, as the way his hands with their long, nimble fingers were finally comfortably moving over his skin, unfastening buttons and undoing zippers. In these moments, when he could feel the tangential feelings from Galen, Krennic realized he was seeing a sight of almost ethereal beauty. And, perhaps what was most endearing, is Galen, no matter how many time she could tell him, would still blush red when Krennic would say those things to him.

"I am not distracting you." He said in answer, though the hand that moved to barely touch bare skin under Krennic's tunic begged to differ. "I do not celebrate my life day."

"What?" Krennic said, admonished. "It's an excuse to celebrate, Galen."

"I do not need an excuse." He quipped, and Krennic had to laugh, though he was genuinely touched by Galen's words.

"You won't deprive me of one though, will you?" He said, to which Galen had no response but another kiss to Krennic's neck, a known weakness. "I know its this month, Galen, but I don't know the day."

"It is in three days." He finally relented with a soft sigh. "I do not want to celebrate, Orson."

"Fine." He said, and turned around to press his hands to Galen's chest, hovering over him, the man's hands going immediately to his hips to stabilize him. "You don't have to." He added, pulling him in for a long kiss that tasted of mint and chocolate. "But I have a new bottle of brandy I don't intend to waste."

Galen sighed softly again, but Krennic didn't give him long to be upset about the proposition, moving them to far more intensive, less controversial pleasures with another small laugh at the look on Galen's face at the mention of alcohol.

* * *

He was surprised they had one. He had never considered Brentaal to have many specialty shops, other than his frequented pastry store, which he now held a beautifully decorated cake under his arm from. So, when this small music store had what he was looking for, he was more than surprised.

He had spent all morning as construction had begun on the recreation complex, tooling over notes and arguing with the foreman of his project. He had lied to Galen, feigning project demands as an excuse to skip lunch, and had instead come shopping. Now, neatly wrapped in dark green paper with Galen's name scrawled in beautiful script, courtesy of the small man behind the counter, he was holding Galen's birthday gifts in his arms.

He hurried back to the campus, eager to see Galen's face. Certainly he wouldn't be upset that Krennic had gotten him something, after all, he had seen Krennic's home now, the money was no imposition. He only hoped that Galen might like it. Though, even if he didn't, he suspected that he would smile and claim to all the same.

The rest of the day passed far too slowly. Though Galen had insisted on not celebrating, Orson had not allowed him to refuse dinner at the same restaurant they had gone for lunch right after they met. It was a lively place, but reservations had been easy to come by. He was meeting Galen there, the cake balanced on top of the gift.

"I have a reservation for two," He told the woman at the desk. "Under Krennic. I believe my date might already be here." She nodded, pointing towards the back of the restaurant where he could just begin to see the top of Galen's head, his hair mussed from a long day of lab work wearing his goggles. "Thank you." He said, and turned to walk away.

"Are you celebrating something?" She asked, pointing to the box. "The staff will be happy to assist."

"No." Krennic said sharply, far more than he intended. He tempered it with a genuine seeming smile. "That won't be necessary, but thank you." And he left before she could ask more questions.

"I told you I did not want to celebrate, Orson." Galen said, as soon as he was close enough for Krennic to hear him.

"And I promised you I intended to either way." He answered, setting the boxes in the seat beside him, slightly alarmed at the glares that Galen was giving them. "I have saved you from the staff coming over and singing, you could at least be grateful."

Galen said nothing, pressing his lips into a thin line and feigning intense focus on the menu as Krennic smiled at him. He already knew what he wanted, so as the waiter took their drink order, he spent his time watching Galen instead. He was mouthing the menu to himself, his lips twitching up and down as they always did when he was focusing on something difficult to discern his feelings for. His hair was slightly fringed into over his eyes, but despite his initial reaction, he did not seem upset by this whole endeavor. Krennic wondered what had happened to make him so reactionary to life day celebrations to begin with, but figured that was a discussion for another day.

After they had ordered, the conversation turned to their work. He listened, asking the right questions at the right moments to encourage Galen to continue with his stories, which he wove intricately with the mathematics and theory that supported them, turning a simple day's work into a seamless backing for his own theory on how crystallography and the energy that could be harnessed from the crystals themselves came together. Krennic listened, sipping at his drink as Galen talked, enjoying the way his smile would pull at his already defined cheekbones, his slightly inward turned tooth catching his lip on occasion. To Krennic, and he knew to Galen, the world seemed their own. There were no other patrons, no one listening to this very private conversation which allowed the man in front of him to truly be himself. He in turn listened to every word Krennic said, his face lighting with genuine happiness or confusion at his words as they both chose to ignore what was going on around them.

Finally, when the food did come, the conversation only slowed, it did not stop. It turned to other things. Since forgotten quips from Lexrule where Galen had spent many days along in both the mines and the city and Krennic had met many of his father's acquaintances who had helped him make his start in interplanetary business ventures, some of whom were planning a visit to Brentaal to see Krennic's own work. It was all thrilling, words woven together between them to form almost a sort of net that was cast over them together. Stories that skirted around nights spent in the others' arms, in the others beds, on the others minds. Stories that hinted at, but never truly scratched the surface on the feelings that had been surfaced on Lexrule and carried back with them to Brentaal. Finally, though, the food was done, and Krennic could no longer contain his excitement.

"Your cake." He said, lifting up the rather plain looking box to Galen. Galen looked at it ruefully before lifting the lid, and thankful smile on his face as he did so.

"It is very nice, Orson." It was deep green, the same color that Orson had noticed Galen favoring more and more of as he was able to replenish his stock of clothes from his weekly stipend. His name was written in thick frosting across the surface, delicious and beautiful all the same.

"Before we eat." Krennic said, and handed Galen another box. He simply stared at it for a moment, hovering over his cleared placemat, before he took it in his hands.

"I did not want you to get me anything." Galen said quietly.

"I saw it and couldn't help myself." Krennic responded, watching Galen's long fingers undo the ribbon tied around the box. It came off easily in his hands, and Krennic watched as he wrapped the soft fabric around two of his fingers.

"The wrapping is beautiful," Galen mused, but Krennic could see his ear tips were burning as they always did when Galen was slightly embarrassed, and he couldn't help the smile that played up his lips, drumming his fingers excitedly on the table in anticipation as the rest of the paper came off. Now resting in Galen's hands was a small music player and a case of piano music: hundreds of symphonies and oratorios even instrumental operas and overtures. It was all there, at his fingertips, and he simply stared at it for a long moment.

"Well," Said Krennic, the silence driving him mad. "What do you think, Galen?"

"I love it." He said softly, and Krennic watched as he ran a thumb along the curve of the music player. "You did not have to get this, Orson. It seems expensive."

"I know I didn't have to Galen." He reached a hand across the table, which Galen placed his into. "I didn't do it because I had to."

"Why, then?" Galen asked, looking up at him, shock and uncertainty in his face.

"Because I love you." Krennic didn't realize he'd said it until the words had flown past his lips. He watched Galen's eyes widen, and felt his own face flush, his neck reddening. He couldn't believe he had done that, it could ruin everything.

"Oh." Said Galen, so more than a whisper. Krennic knew that while nothing about the restaurant around them had changed suddenly seemed as though it had fallen completely silent, that every patron, from the non-human at the bar who had far too much to drink to the elderly couple sitting a single table away, was looking at them, seeing Krennic's mistake. It was too soon. Galen wasn't ready, his silence proved that.

"Orson," He said, his voice seeming heavy. Krennic waited for the inevitable rejection. The saying he wasn't good enough, or that Galen thought they were moving too quickly. That they should end this. That he was wrong. He waited, the moment seeming a lifetime longer than reality. "I love you, too."


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter, and if you have time/interest, I'd love if you checked out my outtakes set from this story. They are more mature flavored, so if that's not your style, I understand! Anywho, hope you enjoy, R and R as always :)

"Are you getting on board?" The train conductor was watching him carefully, taking in his appearance with tired eyes from a long shift.

"Yes." Galen said, and pulled out his pass from his pocket, scanning it and climbing aboard the mostly empty train. He had left the warmth of Orson's bed only a few minutes before, leaving his exhausted bed partner to sleep as his usual insomnia had urged him to move, to go on one of his walks that had so exhausted him during the term. But in this, over the course of recent days, he had found a new way of quieting his mind.

The trains that carried thousands to their daily commutes ran all night long as well. There was a station perhaps fifteen minutes from the Program campus that Galen found himself drawn to on its nightly schedule. He would climb on board, watch as the bright neons of the city faded to the pale glimmers of the housing district. He watched as the borders of populated land faded to the red-hued rocky landscape that was accosted by farmland where dry crops peaked on the mounds that farmers had constructed. He watched as that faded into the beautiful lake side tracks that spun past the major fisheries and stopped at the power station to let those working 3rd shift to stumble off in time for work. He could trace with his eyes the tributaries that fed the massive lake and the small ridge of the irrigation pipes that carried the water back to the inhabitants of a city that always buzzed with life.

As the train moved, Galen watched, absorbing the quiet stillness of a world that seemed to be sleeping while it continued to allude him. There were times, when he could see their loop coming back to its end, that he felt bad about what he was doing. He had learned, after deciding he could afford the train ticket for a single trip around the track, that if he exited at the same station without getting off elsewhere, it did not ring any charges, because, according to the system, he had traveled no distance. Though he felt badly, and some part of him was compelled to tell the tired conductor about the mishap, he would not be able to ride the train each night otherwise, so thus far, he had said nothing. There would be some day perhaps, that he would have enough money to ride the train each night and pay as he was supposed to, but today was not that day, and he told himself he might be happen to return and do just that in exchange for the relief it offered him now.

He moved to his usual car, which rattled only slightly as it was electrically propelled along its tracks. His eyes watched outside as the landscape flickered past, the tiniest compression noise hitting his ears as they stopped at the close-together stops of the city scape before they reached the long rattling of the farm land as the tracks turned from sharp curves to mostly straight paths.

Though there had been no viable research on it, partly because the field was so specialized, Galen was starting to wonder if it was the crystals were the cause of his insomnia. It seemed that the days he spent entirely in the lab were the longest days, where he would pour over his work and be the same level of mentally exhausted but his brain would not stop of even slow down long after he was finished.

It did not bother him, truly. He had long since dealt with sleep disorders, even on Grange when his feet had practically worn a path around the perimeter of the exact distance his mother would permit him to walk from the house in the almost complete darkness that would fall. Always the same path, always the same time interval, but even when it was complete, he would simply return to his room, and though he would be physically tired as well, sleep was still evasive.

Now, he let his mind drift from his research, a rare point for him. The more he poured over it, the more invested he became, and more difficult it was to retract from it. But now, his thoughts, as well as his general life provided an easy distraction.

They drifted to Orson, who was undoubtedly sleeping soundly, with the blankets wrapped around him to his nose as he always slept. Galen had noticed this, returning to their room often times to see only a tuft of curly brown hair curling out of the top of the blanket. When he would lie beside him, Orson would move, even in sleep, closer to the warmth of Galen's body. He was starting to wonder if Orson was permanently cold, or even unconsciously in need of affection. Regardless, he would inevitably wake with Orson wrapped fully in their blanket, and whatever part of his body uncovered by him chilly. It might have been irritating, but Galen didn't mind the cold. Or at least not as much as the prospect of lying alone in his bed with only a blanket for warmth. No, this was something he was happy to deal with.

Tonight, for example, they had not done anything other than speak for a while after dinner, lying Galen's bed with perhaps the intention of doing something more intensive, but neither having the full energy. Orson was exhausted from spending the day on construction sites, and for a time, Galen had a genuine fear he might fall asleep in his soup in the dining hall. He had not, however, but managed to speak with the same fluid lucidity that he always did, telling a grandiose tale of his day.

Galen wondered about these tales, and now, as they started to pass the lake, he thought of the one told today. Something about Orson having to decisively move out of the way of some large piece of equipment before it could strike him. He had, in the beginning of their relationship, doubted the full truth of these stories, all of which seemed to star Orson in some spectacular role. He had asked him about it once recently, and had expected defensiveness or hostility.

_Instead, he had received a smirk from Orson, who had laughed at Galen's comments. "It's not about what happened, Galen," he said, "It's entirely about how you present it." It was then Galen realized that he did not have the proper imagination to be a good storyteller, and would leave that to Orson either way. That same conversation had ended with Orson pulling him to his feet, turning on some of the piano music and pulling them around the room in a misshapen waltz, laughing while Galen attempted to move with some semblance of grace. "Perception is everything, Galen." He had added._

" _Are you implying something about my dancing?" Galen had quipped, spinning unexpectedly. Orson had laughed loudly then, having to stop and cover his mouth with his embarrassment over the loud sound. Galen had closed his fingers around Orson's wrist, pulling him into a laughing kiss as the symphony reached its peak._

The train was pulling back into the station at the Program, and he rose carefully from his seat, feeling it shake underneath him. He walked to the front, scanning his card next to a new conductor who gave him a brief smile as he moved back towards the building.

"Galen?" He jerked his head up, moving forward as the train continued on its path again. It was a familiar, unexpected voice, and he blinked in slight astonishment at the sound of it.

"Orson?" And it was indeed Orson Krennic, fully and impeccably dressed as always, though Galen and the train staff were the only people here to see him. "How did you find me?"

"You weren't on campus. I was worried." He said, and for a moment, there was a strangeness between them, though Galen attributed it only to the fatigue and oddity of the situation at hand. "I came here. Saw the train tables and figured it might be worth the wait to see if you returned on it."

Galen took in the dark lines under Orson's eyes, the slight relief he was both hiding and exhibiting at seeing Galen making his way back to the Program building. "It was worth the wait, then." He said, and closed the space between them. Orson reached out, sliding his fingers down Galen's arm until he could thread their fingers together as they began walking.

"Yes." Orson said carefully, his voice thick again with sleep. They walked the rest of the way in silence, Orson a warm presence at his side. When they returned, they both changed quietly, Orson humming some small tune that Galen doubted he even realized he was humming to himself. When they were situated again, this time with Orson's back pressed against Galen, Galen's arm wrapped around his waist, and sleep finally threatening to overtake him.

"Orson." He said softly, getting a small noise in return. "I leave every night." The same noise of affirmation. "Why did you come looking for me?"

"I couldn't find you here." He said, and Galen blinked, "I was worried you weren't coming back."

"Oh." He said, and wrapped his arm tighter around his waist, closing his eyes to sleep as he felt Orson drift off against him. He tried against the rising tide of blackness behind his eyelids, to think of any occasion where he might leave permanently. He could think of nothing, no issue great enough to keep him away from Orson forever. The thought was comforting so that when sleep did come, it turned to pleasant dreams that carried him through until morning.


	24. Chapter 24

“It’s spectacular, Orson.” Galen spoke softly, his voice quiet genuine appreciation of the building before him. A summer spent together, much of it on the tracks surrounding the city, in each others’ arms, in throes of stronger feelings that just some attribution, and Galen still seemed genuinely amazed at the scope of Krennic’s abilities. “You are going into architecture, then?”

“I think it might be a disservice not to.” Krennic said, smiling broadly at Galen’s reaction. He had been almost afraid to bring Galen, not that he thought he would say something harsh about it, but that he might make that small lip twitch he made when things were not perfect as they should be. When numbers did not align, or when his crystals would not weld together as they should. His anxieties, however, had clearly not been merited as Galen looked carefully over the building, his eyes wide and bright as he took in the sleek design.

“A disservice to whom?” Galen quipped lightly. Krennic rolled his eyes and chose to ignore him.

“Should we go in, then?” And he didn’t wait for an answer, pressing his hand to the clouded glass square to open the door to the finally finished recreational complex. It was his crowning jewel of the term break, the other projects mere sidebars compared to this one, which was nearly the size of their dorm room.

Galen followed him in, smiling gently at the modern cast, perfect white finish of the building. Krennic had designed it in the diagonals of what he envisioned the government buildings should look like, diagonal lines and the appearance of power. There was unrest, as there had always been, since the issues with the Trade Federation were escalating in the Core Worlds, he smiled slightly at the idea that his designs might someday reach the capital, show the galaxy the strength that the Republic held.

“It looks ready to open.” It wasn’t ready, in fact. It would not open until the term resumed in nearly two weeks time, just enough of a block to allow him to finish his other projects before classes began again.

“They are having the benefactors come look at it, tomorrow. A display of money well spent, I hope.”

Galen nodded in acknowledgement, and began to walk through, taking in the large metal desk at the front, with wraparound help stations and scanners. The smashball courts that lined the back, the flameaning, new equipment along the sides, the blocked off rooms for fitness courses that all shown with the newness of it. “What is back there, Orson?” He asked, gesturing to a large set of doors.

“I’ll show you.” And he stepped through, shoes echoing hard on the floor. He pushed open the doors and was hit with the strong tang of chlorine that was coming off of the now glittering water that caught the outside light of Brentaal. It was massive, easily the size of an entire hall of their residence building, filled to the brim with water. “It should be a nice change of pace from the constant dust.”

Galen stepped around the water’s edge, looking down at it with both interest and trepidation. “I think you are right.” He said cautiously.

“You want to go for a swim?” Krennic said, and without waiting for answer, undid his belt and began to pull his tunic over his head. He had full access to the building, with none of the security installed yet, and no one due to come through for hours.

“I don’t know how to swim.” Galen was blushing, his ear tips red under his ever-elongating hair. Krennic had gotten his cut, having dealt with the curls being practically stained red by the dust they stirred up under constant construction. It was still curly, the front of his hair retaining some of its volume, but it was much shorter while Galen’s fringe now hung low enough to obscure his vision when he wasn’t pushing  a hand through it.

“It’s not very deep.” Krennic assured him. Which was true, if one stayed away from the diving end. “It’s designed for laps, not for diving, really.” Galen still looked a bit troubled, though also a bit distracted as Orson stood in front of him, clad only in his boxer briefs that he knew clung tight to his skin. Galen had given him that same look many times over the summer, in much more heated circumstances. Krennic grinned, relishing that he had managed to have some kind of hold over the ever-wondering thoughts of Galen Erso.  He reached out a hand, tracing Galen’s jaw with his thumb, “I know the designer of this particular building would be very unhappy if you at least didn’t give it a try.”

And he knew that Galen was going to relent the moment he said it. He let out a soft sigh as Krennic moved his fingers back away from his face, and watched as Galen began to peel his clothes off as well. HE took time as he always did, to admire Galen for a moment, his body lean but strong, his muscles ropy along hard lines rather than bulky. It was a look that suited him, and an aesthetic Krennic enjoyed looking at as often as time would allow. He waited until Galen was in the same state of undress before he also pulled off his underwear, realizing he didn’t have another pair to wear back, and dove into the pool as Galen’s eyes widened at him. When he resurfaced, he opened his eyes to see Galen’s back above the water as he climbed down into the water, the cool water up a little past his waist.

Krennic waded, swimming over to him in long, broad strokes, watching as Galen treaded water with trepidation. When he was on the bottom run of the ladder, hesitating, Krennic reached out a hand. “I’ll help you.” He said, and it was only a moment before Galen took it, sliding off into the water next to him. He was more than tall enough to reach the bottom, and after a few moments, he seemed to enjoy the feel of it.

“We didn’t have large bodies of water on Grange.” He said, after a few moments of casually splashing, bending his knees so that the water came to his chest. “this is nice.”

“I used to love swimming. Haven’t had much of a chance to do it here.” Krennic said, and knew Galen’s eyes were on him as he pushed off from the wall, moving over the top of the water in broad strokes. He made his way to the other side, and pushed off again, grinning as he went underwater this time, moving towards Galen’s still form by the side.

“It’s better to go under,” He breathed when he resurfaced. “The temperature doesn’t feel so different.” Galen was hesitating, still unsure of whether or not he would resurface above the still water. Krennic swam closer, feeling the heat of Galen’s body under the water. He lifted a hand out, letting small droplets of water fall to Galen’s shoulders, before he pressed his lips to his, his other arm wrapping around Galen’s naked torso to pull him closer.

Galen opened his mouth, groaning softly as Orson’s tongue pressed past his lips. “Galen,” He whispered, when he pulled back for air. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Galen said, almost immediately as if any other answer would be wholly unacceptable.

“Good,” Krennic whispered and kissed him again before he slid his arm up under his body and with an easy press to Galen’s chest, he was underwater. He sprang back up almost instantly, startled and gasping.

He blinked at Krennic, using a hand to push his hair back off of his forehead. He looked almost angry for a moment, but couldn’t stay that way as he took in Krennic’s laugh.

“I only do it because I love you.” Krennic said, moving closer to him again.

“I don’t think trying to drown me constitutes love.” Galen remarked, his voice falsely stern.

“I never planned on drowning you, Galen.” He laughed again, “I’m only here to push you.” He felt Galen’s arms come to his hips under the cool water, his skin warm and inviting. “Who else would do that for you?”

“No one I know.” Galen agreed, and met Krennic in another kiss, this time pulling them both underwater for a few blissful moments of being only surrounded by the water and each other.                                                                                                                                         

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for reading and reviewing! Hope you all enjoy this chapter, I apologize for any feelings that may surface as a result, I just love these two too much, I've decided. Please R and R, let me know what you think :)

“I can’t believe we’re finally done with this Program.” Orson was lying on his bed, stretched out, shirtless, with his datapad balanced precariously on his stomach. “A few more days and we finally get to show the galaxy what we’re capable of.”

Galen looked over at him, his lips pressed together in thought. As per usual, Galen’s thoughts and work had never slowed. His bed was covered with the product of his thesis, edited docusheets that if expanded would stretch the length of the hall, and now rested several inches when stacked together. “I won’t be doing much showing off, I’m afraid.” Galen said after a moment, “I’ll be spending far more time where people can’t see me.”

Orson looked over at him, stretching his muscles slightly to turn, a look which Galen appreciated. How much time has he spent appreciating Orson Krennic? Far more than he had expected to, that was for certain. In various poses, in various forums, finally absconding his father by refusing to return to help run the banking system on Lexrule, standing haphazardly on a speeder bike with more grace than Galen could manage driving one, giving his final presentation in front of the board of trustees and speaking without a flaw in his words. There were other things too, of course, less public things that despite having been fully involved with for years now, still made the tips of Galen’s ears red under his now neatly trimmed hair. Moments where Orson would be grinning under him, or his body would be moving lithely through the water of the pool he had designed himself with only him and Galen in the water, moments when his legs would be wrapped around Galen’s waist, holding him to the wall, the doorframe, the research lab ro some other odd corner where they would be away from prying eyes and instead invested fully in the heat that was so prevalent between them.

“Not for a few months.” Orson said quietly, and for a moment, Galen felt bad about the shift in tone. Orson was excited to be finished to begin his new job on Coruscant where he would be designing Chancellor Palpatine’s newly constructed government buildings. It was an incredible job, with the security that came with being named to the core of engineers. Galen was immeasurably happy for him, he could see the light behind his serious gaze when Orson talked about it, the desire to leave his mark on a typically forgetful galaxy. But there were changes coming, for the pair of them.

It was true, they had spent term breaks apart. Galen had spent one on Jedha while Orson, because of his work their first break, had spent most of his in the outer rim, designing buildings on a paid program, completely funded by the Republic, that would aid smaller governments in finally having a place to call their own. But that break had been interspersed with small trips both had taken to see the other, either to Jedha, where Orson had been able to admire the architecture of the Holy City, or to a mid-rim system where it was not too expensive for Galen to travel to. They had been happy memories, with happy communications, and the breaks that followed had been similar, with the two of them growing into who they were now with the other as an anchor.

But now, this would be different. Galen watched as Orson’s fingers slowed on the datapad. He was thinking about it now, as he often pretended not to when he knew Galen was watching, but it made no difference. They had made plans to stay together on Coruscant, right after commencement. They would live in the apartment that Orson would inhabit after Galen left for his expedition. A highly competitive program, one that would have him studying crystallography on site, deep in caves, for the better part of three years. No visits, only physical communications because comlinks were not used except for in the case of emergency, and nearly three years spent apart.

He had shown Orson the application the day after he had gotten word of it from the professor that was recommending him. He had tried to hide his desire to apply, his true want to be a part of the program for fear that Orson might get the impression he wanted to leave. He had seen it, the brief moment of hesitation before Orson had smiled at him, kissed him hard, and congratulated him ont eh opportunity. The same reaction he gave when Galen told him he was accepted. The same reaction when Galen decided that would be his plan.

“I am excited for our time on Coruscant.” Galen said, choosing deliberately to move the subject back to happier thoughts than separation. It was easy for him not to talk about his impending trip, despite how excited he was to be going. He had never, not even after years of Orson’s relentless trying, talked much about his own interests beyond what others asked.

Orson turned fully, setting his datapad down on his desk that had since been cleared of his school things except the certificate of completion and the award for excellence in mathematics that he had received that morning, two things which matched Galen’s own pieces, except for his was for physics. He sat up and looked over at Galen, who smiled thoughtfully at him. He was amazed, always, at how much older Orson seemed than their first encounter in the library. His face was more cut, his body more angled and muscular, any hint of softness that had surrounded him gone to the manhood that now encompassed him. Galen wondered if he too had changed so much, it would be impossible to tell beyond what Orson told him, but he suspected that some things might be different.

“I am, too.” Orson said, and plastered on his face was that same grin. The one of congratulations. It wasn’t fake. It was almost as if Orson were telling himself to be happy, which, in a way, hurt Galen more than if it had been the fake smile he reserved for those whom he did not want to interact with. He didn’t want Orson to be a fake, self-enforced kind of happy. He wanted him to be genuinely happy, excited for their coming time together.

“I will come back, Orson.” And he sees Orson’s lips press together in an almost glimpse of anger as his bright eyes close for a moment. “It is not forever.”

“I know.” He says, but Galen can see that the pain is still there. Orson is afraid, those he would never admit it, and has never said it. He is afraid Galen will leave. Leave with the crystals and never come back. He wants to know why Orson thinks that way, it is one of the few things he has never been able to riddle out about the man in front of him. There are parts of him buried to deep for Galen to see, even when the rest is laid bare and he is speaking in a soft tone only meant for Galen’s ears. He thinks that perhaps Orson does not know, that maybe he doesn’t understand himself as well as he thinks he does, and that is what drives the fear. The fear of separation, that the one thing he had dared to say he loves might simply leave and not come back. Galen wants to reassure him, but his words find little query, so instead he waits.

Instead, Orson stands, and walks over to him. He turns on the music box that he bought Galen so many years ago, resting next to the small piano with the gold writing now worn off, and stands in silence until the music comes on. He reaches out a hand silently, pulling Galen up on his feet from the bed, and holds him close in a slow waltz that does little to match the tone of the music. They are taller, Galen realizes, as his line of sight is different, but he is still slightly taller than Orson, and Orson presses his forehead to Galen’s shoulder as they move around the room. Galen thinks it might be an odd sight, the two of them moving around the room to the same scratched bit of music they had when they were young and fumbling and entirely unaware of where things might land in their lives, but he smiles regardless, wrapping his arm around Orson’s bare waist to hold him even closer.

“I don’t want to think about it right now.” Orson says quietly, and Galen says nothing because he agrees that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and is trying instead to focus on the elation of everything else happening. “Or to talk about it.” He leans back, his gaze strong, and his smirk clear this time. “I only want you, Galen.”

Galen can’t help but smile back, ignoring the flicker of sadness across Orson’s features when they fall back onto Orson’s bed and turn on the star chart over their heads so they might both catch the light of the glittering planets on bare skin.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for any feels, I thought they deserved this bit of fluff though :) Please R and R, y'all are awesome and I love to hear what you think!

Galen has scarcely entered the apartment when a pair of hands came over his eyes. He would have panicked, but could smell the candy Orson was eating and instead smiled. “I have a surprise.” Galen gave a small laugh at that, the last time Orson had a surprise for him, it had ended with some strenuous physical activity in the middle of the afternoon.

“Okay.” Said Galen. The hands came off his eyes, sliding down his arms instead to pull him into the apartment. He kept his eyes closed, knowing that was what Orson wanted, and stepped carefully as he was pulled along.

“How was the city?” Since he was already receiving a weekly stipend, and did not deploy for almost three months, Galen had been spending his days in the different levels of Coruscant. Mostly at the physical complexes where he was preparing his body for the three years of trials it would go through, but also setting up accounts for himself, purchasing clothes and supplies, going to the Senate building and outskirts of the Jedi temple, which he had always found fascinating.

“It was good.” He said, stepping carefully as the floor changed from paneling to a rug beneath his feet. “I think I have the clothes that I need.”

“Hopefully something nicer than what you’re wearing.” Krennic said offhandedly, and Galen had to laugh at his tone. Krennic had taken to wearing immaculately constructed outfits that both framed his body and gave him an aura of authority. Galen still favored  the basic he had always preffered, much to Orson’s chagrin. “Not that you don’t look good.” He added quickly, so much that Galen had to at least give him credit for trying.

“All athletic wear. Nothing exciting.” Galen could tell, even with his eyes closed, that they were moving into the parolor space of their apartment. It might have been a bit above their means, but he knew Orson wanted them to live somewhere he could impress the important guests that he now spent his days mingling with. Galen couldn’t blame him, really, and the space was nice after years of living in a confined dormitory.

“Makes this all the better then.” Galen smiled to himself, knowing Orson was not looking at him. He was pulling Galen forward, desperate, he knew, to have him walk faster but the need for secrecy outweighing it. He could hear, in his tone, the excitement for whatever was waiting for him in the parlor, and let it sink into him. He knew that Orson had been working incredibly hard all week, and he would have been happy with just a small evening the two of them might spend together. But this was Orson, and he tended to have more lavish ideas about what surprises should be than Galen. Perhaps they could do both, depending on what opening his eyes entailed.

The fingers clasped on his dropped. “Hold out your hand, Galen.” Galen did, noting that he was facing the window as the faintly glittering lights of the city at night came in through the window. A small weight pressed into it, one at three points in his hand and he furrowed his brow in confusion. It was familiar. His mind was alight with the memory of past sensations that this might have entailed. They seemed just out of his reach, and he frowned. He felt Orson pressed to his side, almost jittering.

“Open your eyes.” His eyes went immediately to his hand, where his piano ornament, from their first and only trip to Lexrule sat in his palm. He smiled, knowing not why it was familiar, letting his hand trace the familiar shape that had now faded until the lettering was unreadable and the tiny painted keys were beginning to chip. He was transfixed by it for a moment, so much so that he almost forgot that it wasn’t the surprise until Orson’s fingers tightened on his arm and he looked up.

“Orson.” He whispered, unable to stop himself. He stepped forward, the tiny ornament aloft in his fingers until he placed it carefully on the edge of much larger version now resting, perfectly placed, in their living room. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

It was a rich wood, a rare sight this far into the core worlds, with dark brown hues that reminded him of home. It was etched with the same gold signature that he looked at for years before it faded, and the keys gleamed with the promise of a new finish and perfect countenance. He sat on the bench that came with it, a perfectly matching set, and let his fingers dance over the tops of the keys that were cold to his touch.

He felt Orson’s hand on his shoulder, a single finger laid on the bare skin by his throat, where his pulse throbbed, urging him to play. And of course, Galen knew what to play. That same ballad he had played in the shop years before. It was sweet and haunting, and the melody filled the apartment with a rich sound of both love and mourning. Perhaps an accurate ballad, he realized, for this time. But he would not focus on that now, not when Orson had done this for him.

“How did you get it?”

“I ordered it before graduation. It was supposed to be here last week.” He felt Orson’s arms wrap around his back, clasping together at his stomach as his head pressed to Galen’s shoulder as he continued playing. “You hadn’t bought one yet, I thought you might have needed a push.” He could feel Orson’s teasing smile in the kiss he pressed to his neck, but Galen didn’t react, simply continuing through the bridge of the melody, closing his eyes to let the music move through him as he had so long ago, letting Orson’s touch combine with the feeling.

“I love you.” Galen says softly, finishing the song on a sweet note that he added himself. “Thank you for this.” He turns, spinning easily on the wood, and with his arms, pulls Orson into his lap, pressing his forehead to him.

“You play extraordinarily.” Orson says back, using a free finger to push a stray hair back off of Galen’s forehead.

Galen smiles, pulling Orson even closer so he wraps his legs tight to Galen’s waist as he picks both of them up from the bench. He pulls him into a kiss, making his way to their bedroom, though Orson is not heavy and at the moment, he is simply enjoying the feel of him like this. It is rare they have had moments like this, now that they are older and working and separate for most of the day. But there are beautiful moments as well, like this one, where Orson’s mouth tastes like it did the first time they kissed, and the sounds of their song are still fresh on his mind. Moments where he can feel Orson’s skin under his hands, and his hear his voice laughing or groaning or asking for something, and their impending separation seems very far away indeed.

Later that night, when it seems Orson is lying asleep, fully wrapped in their blankets, he walks through the apartment in his sleep trousers, going to sit at the bench, resisting the urge to play as the staffs of a thousand other songs seem to pour into his mind. But it would have woken Orson and he did not deserve that after a long week of work. So instead, he closed his eyes and let his fingers move over the keys without pressing them, swaying as his mind filled with music again.

A pair of arms slid around him again, this time a sleepy voice lingering in his ear. “Play me something, love.” And the room again came alive with the sound.  


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, its the chapter that begins the inevitable. Hope y'all enjoy :l Please R and R, let me know what you think!

He had decided he didn’t care for wearing suits, no matter how nice Orson claimed they made him look. He felt contained, restricted by the stiff fabric that was cut to his shoulders, and he kept shifting uncomfortably, particularly as they were surrounded by a large number of people he did not know. It was his last night on Coruscant before he was to leave, having spent the last three months in physical and academic preparation as Orson had moved into the start of burgeoning career.

He was here now, in a crisp black suit with a blue tie that framed his face perfectly and highlight his eyes so that they appeared so much brighter when he talked. He was captivating, captivating and beautiful, and Galen smiled as he watched him work the room in easy tandem, drawing laughs and money out of a seemingly endless supply to fuel the new constructions he was overseeing. Galen had noticed his fingers starting to callous with the marks of the elaborate pens he used to mark the papers. They were rough on Galen’s skin, such a change from the texture he was used to from Orson, but not unwelcome. He had mentioned them to Orson once, pressing his lips to one on his palm, and had watched helplessly as Orson had taken to wearing gloves for a few days to hide what he saw as imperfection.

His hands were bare tonight though, his fingers wrapped around a glass of pale wine he had gotten from the open bar at the front of the room. Galen watched him as he laughed with narrow-faced man at the far end of the room, sipping on the gin-laden martini he had chosen for himself. Some people had approached, usually when he and Orson were standing together, but he had chosen himself a place to the side and was blissfully alone for a few minutes. He had wanted them to spend the evening together, but had relented to coming on the caveat they left early. Orson needed these connections, he knew, and to make an appearance was important. As his thoughts trailed to other things, his own connections he was beginning to make, he saw Orson gesture to him from across the room, a wide smile on his face.

The man he was talking to nodded, passing him something that found its way to Orson’s pocket as Orson left him behind. “This color suits you.” It was Orson’s impeccable talent for making it seem as though they were the only two people in the room, his fingers straightening the lapels of Galen’s dark blue suit, tightening his tie to make him look immaculately dressed. “I think I was right.”

“You are rarely wrong.” Galen agreed, sipping down the last of his beverage and setting the glass down on the corner of a table. Orson smiled, but seemed the slightest bit confused, whether Galen was teasing him, or simply stating a fact. He felt Orson’s calloused fingers on the back of his neck, pulling him down so he could whisper quietly to him.

“I think we have better business at home.” He said softly, voice full of heavy suggestion and also some sort of excitement. “Are you ready to go?”

Galen smiled, threading his fingers down Orson’s arm to intertwine their hands. “Yes.” He says, and lets the slight burn of gin go down his throat.

 

By the time they make it home, riding the train because Galen know that Orson knows that he loves riding the trains, Galen is aching for them to be back in the solace of their tiny apartment, to hold Orson close like he knows he won’t be able to soon enough. He keeps his hand linked to Orson’s tracing his fingers carefully with his thumb, enjoying the hum and passing of the train as Orson enjoys the constant onslaught of people, until, by the time they do finally make it into their apartment at the end of the row, Galen is aching for more than the light touches they’ve exchanged.

While it’s true things have slowed down since they’ve gotten a bit older, and there are nights when Orson is lucky to make it back to eat at a reasonable hour, to Galen there is still, as there always has been, an almost insatiable need for intimacy. Not sex. Though that is a manifestation of their life Galen is happy with as well, but the seemingly irreversible closeness the two of them are able to share on those occasions.

Orson has scarcely turned to lock the door behind him when Galen has pressed him back to it, fingers undoing the buttons of his blazer, his lips closing over his. He felt Orson’s reaction come as though it were instant, wrapping his arms around Galen in a semblance of an embrace as he pulls them back away from the door. But it feels different, too. Not just heat and love, but anger. An undeniable stiffness to the way that Orson was moving. Galen stopped, taking a step back, his hands wrapped lightly around Orson’s wrists to stop him from tugging harder at Galen’s suit jacket.

“Orson.” And Galen knows the answer to any question he might have. _Your leaving. Your leaving. Your leaving. And your leaving me here._ And so, he doesn’t ask it. “I will come back to you.”

“I know.” Orson’s voice, for the first time he has known him, since that first day when he pretended he wanted to know Galen and not just physics, he had never heard it like this. There were tears, probably appropriate ones that he was refusing to let go. “Are you not even a little upset by this, Galen? Do you not care?”

Galen looked at him, and could feel a tear at the corner of his own eye, one he let fall easily in a line down his face. “Orson.” He said softly, letting his hand moves up to cradle Orson’s face. How much older does he look, now especially with lines pulling his features hard against his bones, and a persistent sadness in his eyes that still managed to catch the light in their brightness. “You know that I do.”

“What do you want me to do while you’re away, Galen?” He says, his voice almost cruel, “Wait for you like a widow? I don’t know that I can do that.”

“I am not asking you to.”

“What are you asking then?” And Orson steps away, away from Galen’s touch, into the darkness that is the room in front of them.

“Just to know.” Galen answers, his voice uneven but strong. He doesn’t expect Orson to wait for him, except for maybe in the darkest parts of his mind that emerge when he feels possessive, when someone eels is staring at Orson for longer than he likes, or when someone makes a comment on something that presses him the wrong way and he wraps his arms around Orson a little tighter that night, or kisses him more aggressively than he would mean to. “And to remember.”

“I won’t be able to forget this.” Orson says. And Galen nods, reaching out a hand, level with Orson’s closed fingers. He looks at Galen’s hand for a moment, before pulling it up to his lips, pressing a kiss softly to his fingers. “I’ll make a life for us here, Galen.” He adds, and his voice is starting to take on the fever it does when one of Orson’s grandiose ideas comes into his minds. “And you’ll come back with everything you’ve learned. All of your research. A career ahead of you. A life ahead of us.”

“Yes.” Galen says, because the pitch in Orson’s voice is stirring his own mind to incredible thoughts of the future. Of a family, perhaps, in a place like this. His work in energy, with his crystals, with his Orson. What a life they could have. Orson’s lips, now pressed to the inside of his wrist, were bringing that fire back to life inside of him, and leaned down, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Just come back to me.” Orson whispers one last time before the words disappear in a veritable frenzy of motion and feeling and hurt and exhilaration and love and pain that carries them through the night and into the morning when they ride the same train to landing platforms with the ship that will carry him away.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, college is literally doing its best to kick my ass right now, but I'm hoping to have at least one to two updates on weekends! Thank you all for your continued support, I hope you enjoy this chapter as well :) Please R and R, definitely keeps me rolling!

He couldn’t tell if the wind was genuine or a byproduct of the hundreds of speeders that were moving around the landing pad. A product of nature itself, or simply the nature of Coruscant? It truly didn’t matter to him, it blew his recently cut hair across his forehead, but not enough to truly affect its shape, and whipped around the long cloak that he had draped over his shoulders. His assistants milled around him, the whole pad on its general feeling of alertness after three escalating years of war. But he almost couldn’t contain the excitement that even this morning one of the reception workers had said gave him an extra glow as he walked.

It was the exact date that Galen was due to return, written in his flowing script in a small letter that Orson now had tucked in his inner breast pocket along with a small vibroblade (in case of emergencies). He had found himself, until he had finally buttoned his tunic up to his throat to avoid it, looking at the writing again and again and again until the ink was starting to smudge and the paper was looking more than a bit worn. He pressed a hand to his chest now as a particular cruiser caught his eye, making its way to the proper landing pad.

He was not the only one waiting on its arrival, there was an elderly couple who seemed to be heralding in the arrival of their child, and a series of Republic official whom Krennic should have known but couldn’t quite place. Pad workers who were waiting to unload the ship, scientists who were ready to seize and store any precious commodities. He watched the ship land, the restlessness that had always been present in the back of his mind giving him brief shots of adrenaline that made him want to run up the hatch as it opened rather than wait at the safe distance that he was required to. He was itching to go, to run, to push three years of sullen nights nursing a whiskey bottle or a stranger in some odd apartment aside and actually feel something vibrant for a change.

The extended and the maintenance team stepped back to allow the passengers to exit from their almost rotation-long journey. A old man, the head of this mission, emerged with his bags in hand. A pair of non-humans next, who were greeted and moved from the platform by some of the officials and began talking in hurried voiced. More people, young and old and non-human, and Orson was beginning to feel antsy. For a long moment, it was just him, and he stood, waiting and waiting and waiting before he finally saw the corner of a familiar, tattered bag and the long legs of a man he had been waiting so long for.

“Galen!” He yelled, his voice barely making it over the roar of the ships, but the genuine grin that greeted him, even at a distance, showed that it had reached its target. It seemed to take both a perfunctory moment and an agonizing lifetime before the distance between them closed and for the first time in three devastatingly long years, Orson Krennic was wrapped again in Galen Erso’s embrace.

The soft bag of clothing fell on his foot, but he didn’t move, closing his eyes for a long moment as familiar arms pulled him close in an embrace he recognized. “Orson.” Said a soft voice. Not trying to get his attention, not trying anything, truly, other than to perhaps decide for himself whether the man Galen is holding is real and he can let himself be immersed fully in this embrace.

When they finally break apart, Krennic can feel his face straining from smiling more than he has in a while. He lifts a hand up to Galen’s jaw, curving around it while he lets his thumb trace the familiar curve. Galen’s face is impossibly thinner, and Krennic thinks a definite trip to the pastry shop is in order because the rest of his body seems to match. Years of living in caves, he assumes, but that is certainly something that can change. His hair is longer, not yet long enough to pull back from his face, but long enough so that when Krennic slides a hand through it, there is plenty enough to grip. The thought sends a spark through him, an almost-forgotten ache in the wake of absence. There had been nights when his body had needed something, meaningless encounters with strangers that were infrequent and almost always regretted while Galen had been away. This was desire, not simply need, and he relished that thought for a moment.

“Welcome home.” He said, reaching down to take one of the bags before Galen could protest.

“Is this Orson?” An unfamiliar voice came from around Galen, a slight shock at hearing his first name be used by someone other than Galen himself. His days now moving through Republic military rank were labeled distinctly by his last name, which was very different from those around him. No others from Lexrule, no other Krennic’s in the guard. He secretly was happy for that fact, though he tried not to dwell on it too much and instead focused on his work.

The voice belonged to a dark haired woman, dressed similarly to Galen, and one he assumed had been on his mission with him. “Yes.” Said Galen, turning towards her, “This is Lyra, she was on the expedition with me.”

“Orson Krennic.” Krennic stuck out his hand in a gesture of greeting, still itching to get off of the platform and back home. To have Galen to himself for the next three days he had taken off from work, to spend time with him, to hear him talk about his research and travels in ways that his infrequent letters could only woefully represent.

“It is nice to finally meet you,” She said, and her voice was nice, soothing. She was looking at him with a sort of unbidden curiosity, and Krennic wondered for a moment what she had heard. “Galen spoke fo you often.”

“It is always nice to meet a friend of Galen’s.” He offered in return, running all of Galen’s letter through his head to see if he could recall a mention of a Lyra. He wondered why Galen had chosen to omit it. “I’m afraid we have to be going, but we could certainly meet again sometime.”

“Of course,” She said, “My parents are waiting for me anyway.” She gestured to the elderly couple who had her bags in their arms. “I’ll talk to you soon, Galen.”

He nodded, and Krennic watched as she walked away, sparing a glance back towards them. “She seems nice.” Krennic says, but he has an odd taste in his mouth, something he can’t quite place.

“Lyra is wonderful.” Galen agrees, climbing into their cab behind him. “She is very kind and extraordinarily intelligent. I believe you and she will get along quite well.” Krennic nods, passing instructions to the driver who joins the adjacent speeder lane almost immediately. He realizes, with a touch of a blush, that he hasn’t stopped touching Galen since their initial embrace, even right now, his fingers are dragging along the ridge of Galen’s hand, and he worries it might be too much for a man who has spent the better part of the last bit of his life underground and in the dark. But when he looks back, Galen is smiling softly at him, looking at him with old affection that Krennic has hoped would not go away.

He lifts his hand to Galen’s face, turning him towards him softly as he sits back, and pulls him into a kiss. A long kiss, tempered by a gentility that has been absent from his life. Galen returns it easily, sliding one arm down around Krennic’s waste, and cupping the base of his skull with the other as they move in a nuanced rhythm.

When they break apart, gasping for air, Galen presses his forehead to Krennic’s. “You still taste like that candy.”

Krennic can feel the blush creeping up his neck, remembering the two pieces that are, even now, in his pocket waiting to be eaten. “Some things never change.” He quips back, pressing another light kiss to Galen’s lips as the speeder cab begins the final curve to where their apartment waits in unbidden solitude.

 

He think he could listen to Galen talk for hours, running his calloused fingers up along his spine like he is right now, Krennic’s face buried in his shoulder where he occasionally pressed opened mouthed kisses of whipsers words of encouragement. In fact, he is quite sure he has listened to Galen talk for hours in his soft voice about all of their discoveries, about interesting anecdotes or things that made him laugh. Krennic hears names and forgets them just as easily, more focused on Galen’s reaction, but as the stories progress, he begins to hear Lyra’s quite often, a major player it seemed, in Galen’s works.

He doesn’t mention it, that small bit of unnecessary anger that he can feel in his throat is ridiculous and he knows it, especially considering how they have spent their time the last few hours. “Tell me about you, Orson. Your letters were always brief, and I have talked for a while.” He feels Galen turn in the direction of the chrono, letting out a slight huff at how long he had indeed been talking before settling back, turning to wrap his arm around Krennic’s bare waist.

“I’ve been promoted several times. I’m overseeing the renovations for the entire Republic.” He says, and looks up to see Galen’s dark eyes stretched wide at him. He lets out a small laugh. “You don’t have to seem so surprised, Galen.” He watches with a sort of fiendish delight as Galen’s ear tips turn red before the rest of his face as he looks away.

“You are so young, I didn’t realize was all.” Galen says, trying to make sure Krennic is not insulted. He isn’t pressing a kiss to his chest before pushing himself up on his forearms.

“We’re only a few years from being thirty, Galen.” He says, straddling him down into the mattress. “I wouldn’t call that particularly young.”

“It depends on who you are comparing us to.” Galen responds, smiling a bit as the color of his face lessens back into his olive tone. “To the Supreme Chancellor, or Jedi Master Yoda, we are quite young.”

“And compared to the people still on Brentaal?” Krennic asks, but is flipped over suddenly onto his back, Galen looming over him slightly, his hair falling down around his neck and shoulders.

“We are quite old indeed.” He agrees, and leans down to kiss Krennic, who pressed on his shoulders.

“Not too old for this, I hope.” And there it is, the beautiful laugh that he has wanted to hear almost as much as Galen’s voice. It is light and true and so suits him that Krennic smiles broadly.

“No.” Galen agrees, kissing him soundly. “Never for this.” And Krennic lets himself be pulled into a wave of Galen Erso again, wrapped in the blankets of a bed they now share again.


	29. Chapter 29

Galen woke early to the buzzing of his comlink. Orson was still asleep next to him, the city still dark save for the lights that blared as they always did. The early hour truly didn’t bother him, his sleep patterns were wholly unnaturally after his expedition, and the four days he had been back, despite the fact it was the best sleep he had gotten in a long time, were not proving to be anymore restive. He wondered if his own early theory, from his days at the Program, had been accurate and the kyber crystals were the cause of his latent insomnia.

Nevertheless, he took the comlink in his hand, taking a moment to read through the message on his screen. “What is it, Galen?” A sleepy, somewhat irritated voice came from under the cover of their blankets. Perhaps Orson had not been as soundly asleep as he had originally thought.

“Lyra.” Galen answered. “She would like to meet us both for dinner this evening if we are free.”

“A bit early in the morning for dinner plans.” Orson was rumpled this early, but Galen knew he wasn’t truly annoyed with the early call, since he was already burrowing back into his side where he would certainly be warmer so he could sleep the extra hour allotted to him.

“How did you stay warm when I was gone?” Galen asked, wrapping an arm around Orson, which took a good deal longer than it should have once Galen got through all the layers of blanket he was shrouded in.

“I had a much better excuse to wear more clothes.” Orson responded, and Galen could feel him shake with a sleepy, but silent laugh as he settled back to sleep. His own mind wandered to dinner, to the coming days where they would be presenting their findings and securing funding from the University in order to continue their work. He let Orson’s soft breathing, the warmth that came from him lull him into an easy state so that he might find a few moments of sleep himself.

 

 

“Lyra will not mind whatever you wear, Orson.” Galen assured him, as he adjusted his outfit in the mirror for the fourth time before they were due to depart. “And either way, you look quite nice.”

“She is clearly important to you, Galen. I won’t have her thinking I am a common vagabond.” Galen pursed his lips at the absurd thought that anyone might ever mistake Orson Krennic for anything other than the picture of authoritative construction that he was witnessing at this moment. A composed man, with seemingly no piece of his appearance or façade out of place on any specific occasion. The thought made him laugh a bit to himself, though he tried to harden his face as Orson whipped around to look at him.

“Besides, at least this way, we are coordinated.” It was true, with Orson’s new Republic insignia on his chest, catching dark the light on the glossy finish of dark blue it gave off, and his all-white outfit, he matched Galen, with his soft blue tunic and light Jacket perfectly.

“I will, as I always have, leave those determinations up to you.” Galen nodded, and watched with a small amount of glee as Orson rolled his eyes and turned once again to give his tunic a final adjustment.

“Let’s go, then, we don’t want to keep her waiting.” He stood fluidly, felling the familiar weight of Orson’s hand in his own as they moved to the speeder cab waiting outside the door.

 

 

“Galen told me you are overseeing the new Republic renovations to the Capital.” Galen watched as Orson nodded, sipping at his wine as Lyra spoke. “I’ve seen some of the construction, it is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Orson said finally, setting his glass down and adjusting it with his fingers. “I wish the project would move more quickly, but with most funds going towards the war effort, I think it may be a while before that particular dream is realized.”

“It is my hope that the war is drawing to its close. The Jedi Order seems to think so.” Galen felt a small knot of worry settle into his stomach. On principle, he avoided political conversations as best he could, in particular with Orson whom he knew had strong opinions. There had been more than one night where Orson had been examining the Holo-news in a partially whiskey-induced state, raging at the idiocy of particular senators or generals. While he had never asked Lyra her own views, the two were very different individuals, and this was not a scene that he could imagine ending well in a relatively quiet restaurant.

“They seem to believe that capturing the droid general will end the war. It is far more complicated than that, I believe.” Orson said smoothly, no touch of irritation in his voice. “But with the recent death of Count Dooku, perhaps they are correct after all.” Lyra said nothing for a moment, simply seeming to regard Orson with slightly lifted eyebrows. “Enough about that, how is your and Galen’s research proposal to the University coming?”

“Very well.” Galen interjected, relieved to see the conversation changed. “Lyra has done a good of the work on preparing the financing proposition.”

“Galen undersells himself as always.” She might have been saying it to Orson, but her eyes were on Galen, laughing with the familiarity of recent months between them. “You’ve done an incredible amount of work Galen, especially with your recent introduction of using kyber as an energy core provider.”

And Galen felt the conversation shift to a happier topic, one that flowed easily between him and Lyra. Laughter at almost-forgotten anecdotes from their travels, quips and stories about hilarious personal mistakes from their trip. Then more serious notes about recent work and the upcoming presentations. It was engrossing, so much so that Galen hardly noticed when their food came except for to take inconsistent bites when Lyra was speaking.

“I’ll take the bill.” He heard Orson say next to him and froze.

“I’ll pay for mine.” Lyra responded smoothly, turning her whole body to Orson who hadn’t taken his eyes off the waiter. Galen looked at him, his entire body seemed strangely tense, and his food was sitting almost untouched on his plate, save for a few pieces that had been cut evenly into bites that remained uneaten at the edge of his plate.

“It is no problem.” Orson insisted, looking over at her with what Galen knew was one of his smiles reserved for use when he was feeling very insincere indeed. “They’ve already written the check either way.”

When it finally did come, after Galen finished eating the reaminder of his cold pasta dish, the tone of dinner had changed yet again. Now he could feel a cold gnawing of guilt at having ignored Orson for the good majority of the meal. He had not done it intentionally of course, and he would be more than willing to make it up to him later when they could talk alone. He could apologize. It was simply easy to talk to Lyra, particularly when their trip was so recent. She was not imposing, but still fiercely intelligent and open to his ideas. He appreciated their conversations more than he thought she might realize, but that was no excuse for him to have no included Orson after he had sacrificed an evening to come eat.

“It was excellent to get to know you better, Orson.” Lyra extended a hand, and Galen watched as Orson took it, that same smile on his face, before she turned and embraced Galen in a short hug. “I hope to see you again soon.” Before she turned and departed down the speeder ramp, leaving Galen and Orson to a nearly silent speeder ride back to their apartment, in which Galen again reached for Orson’s hand, who did not push him away, but didn’t reach for him either, instead choosing to the watch the city turn to its nightlife below them.

 

“I am sorry about dinner, Orson.” Galen was watching him pour a glass of whiskey, standing at the counter in his soft sleepclothes.

“Would you like a drink?” His voice sounded falsely cheerful. Convincing enough if Galen hadn’t known him for years.

“No.” He answered softly. “I want to talk.”

“Alright.” His voice was wavering the slightest bit, his accent thicker than usual, his eyes unnaturally focused as he resealed the bottle to put it back in the fridge. “What would you like to discuss?”

“The evening.” Galen wasn’t sure how to respond. It was almost as if Orson had not heard him apologize at all. “I am sorry about dinner.”

“Sorry about what, Galen?” And for the first time, Orson’s eyes met his, bright blue as always, but a strange look had possessed them. Galen was ready to respond when he realized that Orson knew full well what he meant. Why he was apologizing. And perhaps, he simply wanted Galen to say it out loud.

“Lyra and I were quite rude at dinner.” He said smoothly. “I apologize for not including you more in the conversation we were having.”

Orson said nothing, instead walking past him into the living room, where he sat on their couch, his white top a stark contrast to the black covering. “It’s fine, Galen.” But Galen could feel the guilt settling more heavily on him now, unsure as to why. “I’m going to bed.” He said abruptly, right as Galen reached to place a hand on his shoulder, standing swiftly and knocking the rest of his drink back in a quick swallow. He didn’t wait for a reply, instead practically storming off into their room, without paying Galen another glance.

Galen sighed, sitting on the couch next to the seat that had just been occupied, perhaps in the vain hope that Orson might rejoin him. Eventually, when even he could not sit still any longer, he too rose and when to their bedroom. Perhaps his thoughts were too loud, his worries too busy pounding through his brain as he tried to push past his worry to notice the sounds at first as he pulled on his own sleep clothes. When he finally climbed into bed, his clothes feeling strangely scratchy on his skin, since he hadn’t worn them at all for the past four days. It was then that he noticed, closing his eyes in a faint attempt to rest.

Small, muffled noises that were coming from the usual cocoon that Orson had wrapped himself in. Galen froze, his blood feeling like it turned to ice. Was it possible that Orson was crying? He had underestimated the depth of his hurt then. Severely.

He turned on his side, wrapping an arm around the from beside him, pressing his chest to Orson’s back. “I’m sorry, Orson.” He whispered. “I love you.” And though nothing was said back, the sounds stopped for a moment, and he chose to take it as a good sign that Orson did not move away from his touch, even if he didn’t curl into him as he usually did.

Galen sighed, wishing that Lyra might leave his thoughts for a moment and that sleep might come to him.

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! thanks for reviews and kudos, y'all! I apologize for delayed responses to them, its hard to find to time to do them in-between times that I do a lot at once. I do, however, read all of them, and they definitely are what keeps me writing! Thank you for reading, as always, and I hope you enjoy!

His desk was covered in stacks of flimsi, and for the first time, he was jealous of Galen’s ability to seem to organize things instantly in his mind. Not that he was messy by any means, the papers were all aligned in perfect stacks that were perfectly straight, but there were not ordered by date, or time, or even by building in the way he needed them to be. It was becoming a tax on his time, and he had been putting them off.

But this morning, he had come to work early, far earlier than he could ever remember coming in since he truly didn’t like getting up. But he had not wanted a confrontation with Galen after the disaster the evening before had been, and when he had arrived, the building was still dark and empty save for the elderly man pushing around a cleaning hovercart as he finished his round for the night shift. He had been sitting for all of fifteen minutes, doing nothing but stewing in anger, when he had decided to take it out on the stacks of paper. All of them.

His fingers were now pricked with small cuts from pushing them around, but besides the occasional slight sting, he could feel nothing due to the rigid callouses that had formed. He considered, for a brief moment, of putting the gloves he kept in his top drawer on, the soft black leather usually disguised the imperfections and kept the sheets from slicing too deep into him. But at the moment, the slight sting of the cuts, the occasional dot of red on the outside of the sheets was all that was keeping him focused enough on this otherwise mindless task to be able to do anything about it.

Perhaps he was overreacting. Perhaps what he had witnessed was simply an avid conversation between two platonic friends, friends who had just spent the better part of three years living in crammed quarters, in danger and isolated. But there was some part of him, that made him narrow his eyes, even as he worked over his desk, that had seen something stronger there. A bond, one that he could not share with Galen because his experiences with him would be different. He would not have those three years in the caves, studying crystals and knowing all the jargon, the financing, the research that Lyra did. That was not an option for him. But he had been through the program with Galen. He had seen something that had almost made him spit up the one bite of dinner he had managed to eat as they talked around him in circles.

His first conversations with Galen had taken gentle prodding, where he could get Galen to communicate with him in a way that no one else had ever been able to. Where his eyes would almost glitter as his lips would curve into smiles, even as he talked, and he would talk animatedly about whatever flitted across his mind as quickly as his mouth would let him. That was something that had always been between them, to the fascination of classmates, the jeering of others, the distaste of Orson’s father who couldn’t get  a reaction out of Galen no matter how hard he pushed. It was something that had always been there’s. Until now. Now it wasn’t just there’s.

It was hers, too. She was kind, and gentle. She had not been rude to him, or even overtly reaching towards Galen. There was nothing wrong with her. And still, it hurt. It had taken until he had been lying in bed, the blanket having finally regained Galen’s scent after missing it for years, that he had realized what he was feeling was hurt. And then the tears had come, the anger dissipated after Galen didn’t join him immediately to stop them. The last time, he had gone to Galen’s room on Lexrule, pressed into his side when they were both still too young to have had problems, and they had been kept at bay by that simple gesture. Now, he understood that was a much more daunting task when one was alone, and by the time Galen had joined him, he couldn’t keep himself from it.

He was angry about that. He was angry about her. He was angry with Galen. He was angry with himself for not seeing this coming. He was angry with himself for having expectations like this. For not realizing what might have happened when Galen was away. For not reaching out harder. He was mad at himself for leaving that morning, though the chrono on his desk now said that it was nearly time for lunch and the office was full of other people milling about

“Lieutenant Krennic?” A protocol droid paused outside of his office, and he glanced up at it, realizing it was the first time he had looked up in over and hour, his neck protesting the sudden movement. “You have a visitor. He gestured for them to send them in, assuming it was one of his many superiors who had another complaint to wage about the backup on the Coruscant renovations.

Instead, a large box prefaced his visitor, and before whomever was carrying it had made it in, he could smell his favorite spice cakes and his mouth watered a bit. He hadn’t eaten but a single bite of dinner, and had stormed off without breakfast before Galen could wake up and approach him. A damn lot of good that had done since the person that followed the box inside, holding a carrier with two drinks and a sack from Krennic’s favorite delicatessen, was Galen, looking a bit flustered.

“There are a lot of people who work in this office.” Krennic couldn’t help but smile, trying to picture Krennic making it past the elderly receptionist who would have gushed over his cheekbones and longer hair, and trying to weave his way through the crowds until he reached Krennic’s office in the back. For a moment, it seemed like things were as they had been, and he and Galen were simply sharing lunch, an often enjoyed activity before his expedition. But the strange twinge, the look of almost fear in Galen’s eyes jolted him back to the reality of why they were actually here.

Galen took a few more steps in, setting the bakery box and bag of sandwiches in the chair. “I noticed you did not eat breakfast.” He said, keeping his eyes down for a moment before taking in a breath and meeting Krennic’s gaze squarely. “I thought you might enjoy a sandwich.”

“I have a lot to do today, Galen…” He started, but in Galen’s eyes were a rare determination, accented by a short wave of his hand to silence him.

“Regardless of the events of yesterday, Orson, we can at least enjoy a meal together.” He said, and reached in to hand Krennic his carefully wrapped vegetable sandwich and biodegradable bowl of fruit salad. “Besides, as you have often told me, I’m sure you could use a break.”

The words were light, expertly timed in Krennic’s opinion, designed to put him at ease with memories of past times together. It had the desired effect, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease a bit as he took the food and drink.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Galen unwrapping his plain sandwich, setting out the small cups they had given him for toppings. They had begun going to that particularly restaurant because it was the only one who would put all of Galen’s toppings in separate containers so that he could eat them separately. Others would scoff at them, or look at them like they were slightly knocked in the head and Galen instead would eat a plain lettuce sandwich. This, at least Krennic thought, was the best option. And besides, they did have excellent fruit salad that wasn’t nearly as syrupy as other kinds tended to be.

“We should discuss last night.” Krennic finally relented, watching relief wash over Galen, who nodded as his mouth was full. “Are you in love with her?”

There was moment where nothing happened but the mechanical chewing and swallowing of Galen as he finished his sandwich. Krennic waited, his own bite turning to ash in his mouth. “No.” Galen finally said, shaking his head. “I care deeply for Lyra, but I am in love with you and have been for many years.”

Krennic felt his face redden in the way that always gave him away. “I thought that perhaps...”

“I understand.” Galen said, interrupting him in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. “My behavior was inappropriate and a legitimate cause for your concern. I am sorry.” He ate a black pitted olive, chewing for a moment as his ear tips turned red. “I only wish we could have discussed it last night. I do not wish for you to be angry with me, Orson.”

“I wasn’t angry, Galen.” He answered, setting his sandwich down so he could speak more fully, moving his hands. “I was hurt. I thought I was living a lie and that you wanted her.” Galen moved to respond, but Orson raised a hand. “It’s fine if you did, if you do, but I won’t live a lie, Galen. Not after everything that has happened.”

“You are not living a lie, Orson.” He met Galen’s gaze again, his dark eyes soft with apology and now joint hurt. “I cannot lie to you.”

“I know.” He said softly, thinking now of how differently the evening might have ended if he had talked to Galen instead. If he had not resigned himself to a long night of lonely thoughts until Galen had whispered an “I love you” against his skin before he had gone to sleep beside him. “I’m sorry about last night, I should have talked to you about what was bothering me.”

Galen nodded, turning his attention back to his food, giving it more attention than it deserved. They finished their entrees in silence, but not uncomfortable silence, simply wondering how to move forward. “They had some of your favorite cakes.” The box opened to an assortment of tiny desserts. Krennic stared for a moment, and laughed out loud at Galen’s frown, happy to have something to break the tension. “It appears I ordered the miniature version.” He reached in and held one between his fingers, barely large enough to constitute a single bite.

“It’s alright, Galen.” Krennic said, reaching for one himself. “It only means we can eat more of them.” And there was the gentle laugh he hadn’t realized he had missed.

 

That evening, even though it also ended with a smooth glass of amber whiskey, it also ended with so much more. Forgiveness, a touch of awkwardness, and, in Krennic’s estimation, the best night they had had together since Galen’s return. He had paused, still breathing hard, his hands dripping the sheets as his body rode down another high. Galen was collapsed next to him, one hand outstretched, running along his back as he pressed soft, open mouth kissed to his shoulder, laced with both apology and forgiveness.

“Didn’t you have a meeting with Lyra today?” Orson asked, the thought coming to him strangely.

“You were more important.” Galen said simply, and Orson turned, giving him a full kiss before pulling him back over him, welcoming love and pleasure as easily as it would come.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, thank you all for your sweet reviews, always! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. Perhaps enjoy isn't the right word, unless you're masochist who enjoys...

“I cannot believe it.” Galen said, mostly to himself because it almost seemed as if Orson wasn’t listening. He had been on the train when the emergency order had been issued, all citizens in the core of the city were to return to their homes immediately. His heart had panicked as in the distance, towards the Senate building where Orson had met with Governor Tarkin only that morning, had been surrounded by a pillar of smoke. But when he had come home, he had found him here, wearing his work clothes, sipping brandy by the window as he watched the train station. He had turned on one foot, and, even as Galen’s relief was immediate, it had taken Orson an extra second before the same look of relief spread over his features. Galen leant it to the fact he was tired, and had pulled him into an embrace.

The holonews that flashed in front of them on the couch kept switching headlines between the fall of the Jedi Order, their treachery, the attack on the Chancellor, the rise of Darth Vader, the death of Senator Amidala, the swift end of the war since now it seemed General Grievous was also dead, killed by one of the Jedi before they had betrayed the Republic. To Galen, the entire montage was unsettling. He had met many Jedi in his lifetime, some of them quite peculiar, and all with an odd air of authority about them, even the small ones. But he had never met one that was unkind, or did not have a smile to share. He had even seen them in some of the bars Orson had taken them to in the past few months on the lower levels, and he had enjoyed conversations with many of them. This betrayal was not only profoundly strange, but as much as Galen wracked it through his mind, he could not see the pattern that would lead to it being truthful.

“I worked with several of these Jedi on Ilum, or to prepare for lecture.” He added softly, as the name of apparent top conspirators, members of their council flashed across the screen. All dead and accounted for.

“People do strange things under pressure, Galen.” Orson said, smacking his lips slightly. “Personally, I feel safer now. They had an extraordinary amount of power for a mercenary army.”

Galen didn’t respond, letting it be one of those moments where Orson had more to say. Galen, instead, was letting his mind wander to an almost-forgotten memory. He had been to Jedha during his second long break with the Futures Program. It was a dry place, with heavy heat and somber people, except for within the city itself. He had seen them, wielding staffs and speaking in strange voices as they were decorated with kyber artifacts. The Guardians of the Whills, some as ancient, it had seemed, as the temples themselves, some far younger than Galen had been at the time. All learning to protect the kyber, the Jedi, and the secrets contained within. He had been fascinated, and during his stay, had often gone to speak with them in the free time he had each evening. He never had much to contribute to the conversation other than specific recitation of facts, but it was always riveting to hear them speak of science intertwined with so much lore.

It had been during one of these visits that he had met several Jedi. Two masters, with two of their younger apprentices who were using the space as a practice area for meditation. They had nodded to him as they passed, entering the temple, but the Guardian whom he had been speaking with had called them back. There, one of the older ones had pulled out his lightsaber, showing Galen the inner machinations that held the crystal in place and channeled its power into the green blade that had extended from the end. He had ended up speaking with them for what must have been hours, discerning the proper pieces and crystallography and guards needed to control the kyber’s strength. So much so that the sun had gone down and his walk back to the research settlement had been far less safe than his departure, and for once in his life, he was glad he had no money and clearly looked like it.

He swallowed heavily, realizing that those four Jedi, if what the Chancellor was saying was true, were dead.

“The younger ones would come to classes sometimes.” It was true. Since he had gotten the professorship on Coruscant, many of the young Jedi, with thin braids and plain tunics, had joined his regular students when he gave lectures on kyber in particular. Clean energy, and its uses for diplomacy. Things of that nature that he had plans would go to good use beyond his classroom. It was an almost infinite power source, one that he felt was supremely untapped in its potential. Lyra agreed with him on that, her own work at the institute having to do with the development of small scale sustainable movements on industrializing worlds, and she had often cited him in her dissertations as her models for work began to expand. Orson agreed that it was untapped, but as his rank in the army began to rise, and the death toll along with it, he seemed to think it might be better utilized as a weapon against the separatists. A super weapon, capable of eliminating large swaths of their forces or forcing the rest in to submission.

He let Orson speak about that sometimes, unable to ignore the small twinge of disgust in his stomach at the thought of violence. He had decided he was a pacifist, and had told Orson who told him it didn’t matter. A strange thing indeed, to be a pacifist and so involved with a general. His six months having been back had been both wonderful and tumultuous, none more so than that particular conversation, or any instance he accidentally brought up his frequent encounters with Lyra, who was still confused as to why she had not seen Orson but once since their dinner together and that was at the ceremony where they accepted the full funding award and reciprocity for their research work.

Orson had come and shared a table with Galen, Lyra, and Lyra’s parents who Galen thought were particularly nice people. They had gushed over Galen, of course, since Lyra had said so much. But also, they had only nice things to say about Orson, whose work on the capital they had been watching with great earnest. He would not admit it later, but Galen had seen the slight blush on Orson’s face, and after that particular moment and a small glass of whiskey, he had become much more talkative.

“They were traitors, Galen.” He felt Orson’s hand reach across him and settle on his knee, though Orson’s eyes remained looking forward. “I am sorry though, that so many had to die. I am glad the Chancellor is safe.”

“Yes.” Galen agreed, and he was glad indeed. He had met Palpatine on a couple of occasions, always in passing and never long enough to have an actual conversation. He had asked Galen is he and Orson were planning on having children, and that a child made with parents of their level of intelligence would be extraordinary indeed. But after a long talk with Orson, which Galen was still unsure about, they had no plans. “Others as well. People who considered the Jedi friends.” His thoughts went immediately to Lyra, whose family had privately supported the order for years. How terrible they must feel about all of this.

“Hopefully none of them decide to do anything rash.” Orson said, setting his empty glass on the coaster, and flicking the news off. Galen was glad for the silence, the almost constant roaring starting to take its toll on his thoughts. “It is a time for unity.” Orson’s hand held steady at his knee, but he could feel the tension in his fingers. He wanted to pull Galen closer, to invite him to the oblivion they frequently shared to get past the ways of the galaxy. But, he was hesitant, didn’t know if Galen was grieving, perhaps, or simply thought it best to wait.

Galen was grateful that he had waited, not that he would have minded, but for simply the opportunity to mind.  There were so many things changing between them that sometimes there was a moment of hesitancy before it seemed they were throwing all of that away and going back to something easy. Galen had never truly enjoyed something unless it was somewhat mentally taxing, or took a large deal of concentration, and simply allowing themselves to skirt difficult conversations had seemed to be an easy play for long enough. He carved the conversations they had late at nights sometimes, when Orson would challenge his ideas outright and he would have to defend them. Or when he could ask Orson open questions about the Republic, and he had felt free enough to answer.

Those days were waning, but as Galen looked over, his eyes taking in the lines of Orson’s face that had changed little, he couldn’t help but reach a hand out to him. “This is a natural reaction.” Orson let out a small laugh as he turned, pulling Galen down over him on the couch, to where his weight sank into the cushions between Orson’s legs. “To death, I mean.”

Galen smiled down at him, trying to ignore that twinge in his stomach, still very uncertain about all that had been said.

 

 

Three nights later, and he was awake. As more news had come out, and the Jedi that remained across the galaxy were reported as killed, he began to notice the change. The clone troopers, frequently at the bars and shops without their armor on, now remained in full gear and patrolled the streets. A “security measure” for potential rogue Jedi, he had been told, and since he had approached one of them, it seemed as if every pair of eyes were on him whether he was purchasing a pastry or walking across the campus.

Orson was sleeping next to him now, the chaos of the days following the attack were frustrating him, as Galen knew, and he had spent most of the night in a rage about something a coworker had said regarding slowed progress. Galen had pulled him to his chest, wondering but not questioning why Orson chose to work in an office where he despised all of the other employees so much, but already truthfully knowing the answer, and instead had run his fingers through his hair and over his back until he had grown tired of complaining, and gotten ready for bed. Galen spared a glance at him, not able to help but smile at his hair. Of that pair, Galen had the worst behead, but Orson’s tendencies to pull the blanket up to his head always pushed all of his hair until it was sticking almost straight up in the morning when he would climb out of bed and immediately grab for a robe in the cold air.

He reached out a hand, trailing it softly through Orson’s hair, not helping at all with the problem, and almost feared he’d woken him when he jerked away suddenly, pulling his hand back at the buzz of his comlink. Orson did little more than rearrange himself slightly, and Galen sighed with relief.

 _Galen, are you safe?_ It said, and he was startled that Lyra might be asking such an odd question. He had just seen her that morning. _Please answer._

 _Yes. I am fine._ He sent back, looking over at Orson, who remained asleep _. Are you?_

_Come in early tomorrow, we need to discuss some things. Stay safe._

It could only have to do with the temple and the purge, and everything else that had been happening. That was for certain, but he could not truly see how it would affect him. A horrible thought came to him that perhaps someone might be mad at Orson, and he couldn’t help but look at him for a few moments to solidify that he was still there, that he was still safe. He set the comlink down, running his hands over his face, scrubbing at his cheeks with his palms in an effort to make sleep come to him. IT wasn’t helping, his mind going at its usual pace, his latent insomnia not helping. So, instead, he turned and wrapped an arm securely around Orson, pulling him in to another embrace where he could press a kiss to the back of his neck, and feel a warm hand close over his in a sleepy gesture of closeness. It was only then, after a long while of breathing in the scent and feel of Orson, wrapping in his cocoon, that Galen managed to fall asleep, thinking that perhaps it had only been a dream.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliffhangers ;)


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mentions of suicide (though no actual suicide), so please be aware before you read!

“I have something for you, Galen.” Orson looked as though he could barely contain his excitement, and so, for his benefit, Galen tried to smile as genuinely as he could. It was difficult, given the events of the past week. He had been called in for questioning twice, due to the nature of the classes he was teaching and his research, but his connection to Orson had him avoiding the scathing interviews that others were enduring. His week, though tense, was nothing compared to others.

Three professors had been arrested for allegedly conspiring against the Senate and the Chancellor. Galen had known them, all what were now labeled Jedi sympathizers. Lyra was still being detained, held out of her own classroom as they attempted to rid the school of hints of potential threats to the new security of the Republic, or the Empire, which it was now being deemed as the former Chancellor began to seize large swaths of power under the guise of finishing the remnants of the war and memory of the Jedi Order. Every morning as he bordered the train, Galen spared a glance towards the former temple. It was still burning.

But, perhaps worst of all, the urgent message he had received from Lyra had not been simply a cautionary tale. Her parents, donors and supporters of the Jedi Order had been found dead in their apartment. No sign of forced entry, no sign of anything, the authorities had deemed it a suicide. The connections were too much for Lyra, and were too much for Galen as well. There was no fear in Lyra’s eyes when she told him, only a few minutes before the Chancellor’s special forces had arrived to take all of them in for questioning. There had been only anger, and a deep-rooted betrayal that Galen had swallowed like sand.

He had come back to the apartment, with every intention of explaining the situation to Orson. But as Orson had stepped through the door, he had been practically glowing. His Republic pin had been replaced with what Galen recognized was the new seal of Emperor Palpatine’s personal group, and he had told Galen about the promotion he had received to Chief Architect. Galne’s words had stopped in his throat, and instead he had sat almost silently across from Orson as they went out to dinner to celebrate.

“Galen?” He blinked, realizing his mind had been wondering as it often did. He took in Orson’s face, now detecting the nervousness that was masked behind his persona. He gave a genuine smile for the first time in a few days; Orson could be quite endearing when he would allow it.

“I apologize, my focus was elsewhere.” He said finally, setting down the glass of white wine that he feared he might spill on the couch if he zoned out again. He turned on the couch, determined to quiet his mind and offer Orson his full attention. “What was it that you wanted to share?”

“I have two things.” Orson slipped a hand into his breast pocket, held close to his heart. Galen heard paper crinkling, and wondered what might be so important as to keep in Orson’s pocket, but he didn’t ask. Instead, Orson extended his hand, offering Galen a small pouch.

It was warm, either from its close proximity to Orson’s skin, or from the actual contents. He waited before he opened it, feeling Orson’s words hanging on the edge of his lips, his legs crossed in an effort to keep from shaking them. “I don’t know how familiar you are with Lexrulian traditions…”

Galen shook his head slightly in response. “Open it.” Orson said, his face reddening from the neck up.

Galen turned the pouch over, two things spilling out onto his palm, one familiar, one not. “Where did you get this?”

“A gift from Palpatine, I know you haven’t had access to them since your research.” Orson’s cheeks were a deep red now as Galen turned over the perfectly formed kyber crystal in his hand, a clear blue that glittered brightly and was warm to the touch. It had been the crystal, then, that he had felt through the soft cloth.

“Thank you.” Galen breathed, wrapping his fingers around the crystal, not realizing how cold they had been. He turned his attention to the other item, a small trinket. It was fairly large, metal and round, and he might have thought it was a coin from a world that did not use credits if it hadn’t been for the strange markings that adorned it. An emblem of some sort that he could not decipher. “What is this?” He asked.

Orson was quiet for a moment, until Galen looked up at him, his face growing steadily redder, one had running through the curls over his forehead. “It’s a tradition, on Lexrule, that…It’s a promise, really…I know things are changing right now and we aren’t fully ready…we could have to leave here any day….but I wanted to give it to you.” He had never heard Orson struggle so much to find words to suit a situation, but he could feel his own ears reddening as he realized what he was holding. “It’s my family crest. It’s a tradition to exchange them before…”

“Marriage.” Galen finished the thought for him when it seemed Orson was incapable. A nod confirmed his answer, and he closed his hand over the emblem, tracing the small patterns with his thumb. “Orson,” He said, and clear blue eyes met his own, “I love you, and when this clears, we can have a life together.”

Orson’s face slowly changed from blushing and uncertain to a broad grin. “I love you, Galen.” He said, and reached out a hand, standing with Galen who held the crystal and the emblem in his fingers. For a moment, at least to Galen, it seemed that all of his concerns had vanished. There were no thoughts of the suspicious disappearances, of the mysterious figure known as Darth Vader that had now invaded the imagination of everyone, no thoughts of a dwindling war that now seemed as much a façade as a well-laid trap for the Jedi, no thoughts of Lyra who was undoubtedly worried for her safety or else sitting defiant at home, no thoughts of what Orson’s role in everything might be, what his new position of power within the empire might mean for the pair of them. No, at the moment there were only thoughts of Orson, and of a life they might have together when the dust settled on their lives. He could picture it with such clarity as his lips met Orson’s with a taste of his now-fiancé’s favorite candy.

A home on a planet much different than this one on Coruscant. With his piano and Orson’s books. A small child that might resemble both of them, with Orson’s clear eyes and an affinity for science. A perfectly decorated home, with a study for him with dozens of empty notebooks for those odd thoughts that struck him. A projector for Orson, so he could track the political workings of the galaxy that so fascinated him. Everything was clear, everything was perfect.

He stayed riding that high, the simple thought of being engaged to Orson enough to keep him awake, as well as the light glow of the kyber crystal that he had placed next to the bed. He shifted as easily as eh could, Orson draped across his chest, his breathing slow and warm and deep, and reached for the crystal, holding it between his fingers. A thoughtful gift, one that he could use for personal investigation perhaps, but more so for him to have his research close to him. He closed his fingers over it, blocking out the light with his hand.

Then a strange thought came to him as the crystal disappeared from view. He placed his hand on the back of Orson’s head, pressing a kiss to the top of it, as Orson stayed sleeping, letting the thought wash over him. The crystal had been a gift from Palpatine, but where had Palpatine gotten it? Galen fought against the almost panic that swelled in his chest at the thought. Kyber crystals were most commonly found in the lightsabers of Jedi, which he supposed now that Palpatine would have unlimited access to. He held it between his fingers, and his stomach turned on itself, wondering if it had belonged to some child, some elderly master, some man or woman or child that had thought they were doing the right thing.

He dropped it on the nightstand, wrapping his arms around Orson perhaps too forcefully as Orson shifted against him in his sleep. He needed that familiar warmth as the panic subsided and his found himself swallowing large mouthfuls of air in an attempt to assuage himself. It was a horrific line of thought, one that his pacifist brain would scarcely allow him to consider it as truth. He pressed his face to Orson’s shoulder, letting the familiar scent and feel calm him down. He settled back on the edge of sleep, trying to think of happier things when ice spread down his spine from the base of his skull.

He blinked in the darkness, his eyes catching the faint light. Did Orson know? He swallowed again, tamping the panic down as tiredness won out and sleep washed over him, his dreams filled with faceless masses of the now-dead and Orson’s broad smile, tinged red with blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D: Thanks for reading, hope you all enjoyed the trouble in paradise. Please R and R, let me know what you think!


	33. Chapter 33

Krennic flicked at a speck of dirt underneath his fingernail. He was going to have to start wearing gloves, he had decided, if only to avoid the possibility that something like this might happen in a meeting where important people might be present. He had plans, and would not have them ruined by anything as overlooked as loose dirt on his fingers.

He was due for a meeting, with several of the higher ups, but most importantly the former Governor Wilhuff Tarkin who it seemed had taken an interest in him. Krennic wasn’t sure why, but he welcomed the thought that his constructions were garnering the attention of other, important figure within the growing Empire. Bigger things were on the horizon, he could feel it in his bones.

But Tarkin had kept him waiting now for almost half a standard hour. He was sitting in a conference room where an overly ambitious protocol droid had insisted on bringing him tea, but otherwise, no one was present. He had tried to maintain his focus, keep his air pf professionalism because for all he knew, they were observing him through unseen holocams. But that was proving to be rather difficult.

After he had given Galen his emblem the night before and they had spent what Krennic considered one of their best nights together, Galen had been almost entirely antisocial this morning. He hadn’t responded to Orson’s suggestion that they continue their activities from the night before with a little morning exertion with anything other than a non -committal shrug as he went to shower by himself before leaving for classes while Krennic was still getting ready. A thousand thoughts had gone through his mind, most of the initial ones a reactionary rage that Galen wouldn’t speak to him after they had made such a commitment to each other, but those had been followed by hurt and loss and a fear that Galen might be trying to figure out a way to get out of their marriage. Out of their life together.

But when he had emerged from the shower to an empty apartment, he had found that both the metal emblem and the crystal he had given Galen were gone, apparently taken with him to school. The thought had soothed him, the idea that Galen was carrying a piece of him around with him was a relief, and he had tried not to let his mind wander to far into the negativity it was now prone to. The crystal had been given to him by the Emperor himself the day before, who had commended Krennic on his work, and mentioned that he knew about Galen’s research and had read a great deal of it.

Palpatine was unnerving in person, his skin wrinkled to the point of non-recognition, but he had pressed the crystal to Orson’s palm with a reassuring smile, carefully crafted by years of politics that looked the same on every face. He had been almost instructed to give it Galen, despite the fact he was quite sure Palpatine had never met him, and had been promised that more things might come their way in the future. Orson had vaguely wondered about these promises, about the  crystal, but his promotion and their engagement and everything else had been enough to distract him and he hadn’t asked where it had come from.

“Lieutenant Krennic.” A sharp voice, rising on odd syllables, shook him from his thoughts. He practically jumped from his seat, extending a hand to former-governor, now Moff, Tarkin who gave him a thin-lipped smile in return and didn’t take it. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, the Emperor had urgent business I had to attend to.”

“Of course.” He watched, trying to match Tarkin’s cool demeanor, even as he was practically bursting with wanting to know what was coming. He sat down in his seat again, turning to face Tarkin, clasping his hands together in an effort to keep from shaking them.

The man simply stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to riddle something out for himself. “I have seen your work on the capital, Lieutenant. It is very impressive, I must say.” Krennic nodded in acknowledgement. Surely that couldn’t be all? “It is because of your abilities, and the unique connections you have, that the Emporer and myself have prepared an offer for you.” Tarkin slipped a datapad from his breast-pocket, keeping his eyes on Krennic. “But before we continue, I have to impress on you the matter of the utmost security of the issue. You can tell only who you are instructed.”

Krennic’s mind flickered to Galen, but then he focused his gaze to meet Tarkin’s, his chin squared. “Of course. I would never jeopardize the Empire.” Tarkin let out a small laugh, an almost unnatural sound form his thin face.

“Here. See what you think, then, Lieutenant. I await your comments.”

 

“Galen, do you remember the station you designed to run solely on kyber?” Krennic set down his fork, as he finished a bite of his salad. “The one for your sophomore dissertation.” Takin’s words were ringing in his head: glory, fame, power within the Empire. But he could not do it without Galen.

Galen nodded slowly, chewing his own salad, cocking his head to the side of a bit with a questioning look. “Do you still have the schematics?”

“Yes.” Galen said finally, pausing his chewing to take a sip of water. “Why are you mentioning this now, Orson, you seemed somewhat opposed to the idea when I first presented it…”

And he had been. Galen’s production of almost purely clean industry would have collapsed the economies of at least six worlds in the vicinity of where he had planned its construction. He had scoffed, not really ever bothering to go over the plans in detail until Tarkin had showed him a modified copy of them earlier in the day. Modified with greater purpose than simple energy production.

“I—We have been provided a special opportunity by the Emperor himself to try and develop the station.” He watched Galen’s eyes light up with almost wonder, and he couldn’t help but smile. “With only a few modifications, the station you designed is exactly what the Empire needs to grow.”

“What kind of modifications?” Galen’s eyes turned dark, his face contorting into an almost anger.

“Simple ones, only. Mainly focused on defense for the station, and increasing the size to hold more personnel.” Galen’s features relaxed a bit. Of course, he wasn’t lying, but he had omitted some information that would become clear later when Galen saw the schematics. That was the time for that argument, not now, when the opportunity was so clear for them. “They want you to do the design, and for me to oversee the construction.”

Galen was silent for a moment, eating a small bit of citrus fruit while he looked at Krennic carefully. “They want us to work together.” He said, and for a moment, Krennic was worried that had upset him in some way. But then Galen smiled softly. “That will be nice.”

Krennic felt his heart soaring. The project, their project, his project, was taking shape right here at his dinner table. He had known, when he first met Galen, that the man would achieve incredible things, that his mind was a beautiful concoction that would change the galaxy. And now, they would do those things together, make an imprint that would be impossible to ignore.

“Orson.” Galen said, and Krennic heard the strain in his voice. “I have to ask you something.”

His mind raced as fast as he would let it, letting the terrible thoughts fly in and out of his mind as quickly as they surfaced there. “Alright.” He said slowly, his accent thicker than he usually allowed it to be.

Galen reached into his pocket, pulling out of the crystal Krennic had given him the night before, it still glowed faintly as it caught the light. “Where did you get this?”

Krennic breathed a sigh of relief. “I told you, Galen, they were a gift from the Emperor. He said he had read some of your research and was quite impressed by it.”

Galen stared at the little rock for a moment longer before he nodded his head. “Oh.” He said, and continued to eat. Krennic blinked, and physically shook his shoulders as a sudden bit of discomfort ran down his spine. Galen didn’t sound happy. He wasn’t thrilled like Krennic was, or at least he wasn’t acting it. Why was he worried so much about the crystal, which now glowed from its resting place next to Galen’s unused spoon. Krennic picked up his own fork, trying to riddle it out as they ate the rest of their meal in mostly comfortable silence, unable to keep his brain from conjuring up images of grandeur and brilliance with his and Galen’s name attached at the cusp of the next great project the galaxy would see.


	34. Chapter 34

“You want me to resign my post at the University?” Galen looked through the lens of his glasses down at the lines of text on the data pad.

“Tarkin does. He thinks we should devote full effort to the project.” Orson answered him, waving a hand dismissively. Galen watched it, taking note of the new, tailored black gloves that Orson had taken to wearing. They matched his uniform immaculately, gave him a further air of authority, but Galen didn’t like them. He was unsure of Orson’s reasoning for wearing them in the first place and worried that it was something of his affected self-image.

“We are making good progress.” He met Orson’s eyes over the lenses of his thin wire frames. “I enjoy teaching, Orson. I do not wish to resign.”

And it was true. Teaching the classes at the University was part of his release from the trials of the rest of life. His students listened with rapt attention, and he had overheard some of the other professors speaking of how his classes had been some of the most in-demand classes for the current semester, a story verified by the fact that every section was at maximum capacity. It was his reprieve, for them to absorb the information he so cared about with earnest, to come speak with him in his office about the finer points of his research. One student was even a graduate of the Futures Program, and had given him an invitation to an upcoming reunion, which he was yet to tell Orson about.

In opposition, his time spent working on the project with Orson reminded him of the early days of their relationship when he would sit across from him, tinkering with the various instruments available to them in the labs at the Program. Wearing those glasses that Orson always thought were unnecessary but Galen had always had a soft spot for, with more than one pair finding their way into his luggage when they had left the program. Now, it was the pair of them working between a set of compatible data pads, entering the requests they needed for supplementary engineers and personnel for the initial materials gathering and construction. Galen spent his time archiving the inventory the initial phases would require, Orson spent his budgeting and preparing financial statements.

It had promised to be very tedious work at first, but Galen enjoyed on occasion reaching his hand across the table they were working at, away from all windows, in an area with highly restricted personnel access, and pressing Orson’s tapping fingers between his own. Orson had always been a fidgeter, but his cheeks would redden each time Galen reached out and touched his fingers, when he would realize what a distraction those noises could be. Galen didn’t truly mind, he had grown almost used to them after many years spent in his company, but it was always a welcome distraction to feel Orson’s warm skin, or now, his gloves, rather than the cold of the table.

“Perhaps they will take an appeal, allowing you to continue teaching part time.” Galen frowned at his words, reading through the rest of the plans.

“I also do not understand the need for such extensive weaponry. I doubt the station will be vulnerable to attack, and beyond that, I do not know who would wish to attack it to begin with.”

“A set of Imperial officers were killed only last week in the mid-rim, Galen.” Orson had taken to drumming his fingers on the table, thinking to himself with a strange look on his face. “It’s incredible to see what these rebels are willing to destroy.”

Galen said nothing to that again. There had been whispers, of course, of a Rebellion blooming across the galaxy. Those who did not believe what the Emperor had said regarding the Jedi Order, or who simply did not agree with the current government of the galaxy now that the Seperatist’s had been silenced. Galen had never considered himself particularly interested in political workings, but now he felt at though he was sinking deep into them the further his involvement with the project became. It was almost unnerving to track the ways in which his actions, however unintentional, strengthened a government he had no particular attachment to.

He supposed to, that was a lie. His attachment to the Empire was sitting across from him, pretending to be patient while Galen waited continued to read the contract. He reached unconsciously for Orson’s fingers, which stopped tapping and pressed to his palm. His thoughts, quieted for a moment, turned again to the Rebellion.

He was starting to suspect that Lyra may have promised her allegiance to a group of them. Militants, stationed on a planet he had actually marked as a supplier of kyber for their station. But she had not mentioned it to him, and with a pang, he realized that again, the reason for that was sitting across the table from him. IT hurt that she could not trust him, but he could not blame her.

“Perhaps they disagree with the workings of the Senate.” He watched Orson blink at him again before actual turning to the writing in front of him. Perhaps it was true and the puppet Senate that had been constructed was as purposeless as it seemed to Galen, but Orson did not seem happy with that conviction. He finished the final line, waiting for his signature.

“I will not sign this unless I can continue teaching, at least part time.” He said finally, moving his hand back to take off and fold his glasses. Orson stared at him for a moment, and Galen thought he could almost see a twitch of heavy anger in his usual agreeable expression. But it was fleeting, and so Galen ignored it, offering a small smile. “It will be better for both of us. I need the peace it offers, Orson, peace I cannot get from continuing the project.”

Their budget had been approved, and preliminary construction was due to begin to provide a framework for which Galen to design the kyber reactors. The next week would consists of engineer and laborer interviews, which he and Orson would be overseeing together.

“This is not something we can delay on, Galen. Maybe a brief reprieve from the University would be beneficial.” Orson was trying to keep his voice level, but while that normally would have been slightly amusing, it now made Galen’s spine twitch.

“Governor Tarkin will have to respond quickly then.” He stood, forwarding the message to Tarkin before closing his pad. “I am hungry, do you wish to eat in the city, or should we cook?”

Orson sat for a long moment, and Galen wondered for a moment if he was going to be sick. But then he stood, tugging his gloves off of his hands, and rolling them to where they would fit securely in his pocket. “We may as well eat in the city, it’s already late.” He finally relented, and followed Galen out.

Galen wanted to reach for his hand, walk with the slightest feel of him against his fingers as he always liked to, but for the first time, was afraid Orson might pull away from him. So instead, he slipped his hand into his breast pocket, feeling the small metal emblem, holding it in his hands to run his fingers over the intricate design that would someday be one they might share.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for reading and kudosing and reviewing as always. Heavy angst in this one, no lies, but I hope you enjoy it! Please R and R, let me know what you think :)

Krennic watched as Galen contemplated his latest addition to the plans. It was the one Tarkin had originally wanted on the plans, but he had known better than to introduce it at first. Show Galen the basic defense mechanisms he had designed, get him thinking along the lines of what the Empire actually needed, then show him the installation of what would be the projects crowning jewel.

The curve of the super laser stood out among the otherwise linear designs of the station; Tarkin had given him a crude idea from Palpatine, something that would have never come to fruition if not for Galen’s work. A fact of which Galen and Tarkin were both well aware, and his reasoning behind the extreme caution he was using now.

“What do you think?” He asked, his patience finally at its end. Galen often teased him about his lack of ability to stay quiet, and the fact that no matter how hard he might try, he couldn’t keep his more extreme expression from his face.

“It is a giant laser, Orson, I am not sure what you want me to say to this.” Galen was staring at the plans through his glasses. Krennic looked harder, and what he had originally thought was Galen looking over the details was, in actuality, Galen staring in patented disbelief at the image in front of him. His eyes were wide with something like horror, but Krennic was determined to change that.

“It is necessary, Galen! The security of the Empire and its people is threatened every day.” He had a monologue prepared, but his words almost jammed in his throat as Galen looked up at him, his eyes meeting his in a hard glare. “Hundreds of soldiers, officers, and civilians have been killed only in the past few months, Galen. Those systems cannot remain out of control, or everything we know and care for is at risk.”

Galen said nothing, but Krennic felt the heat along his skin rising at the look in Galen’s eyes. Not disbelief any longer, not anger at the thought that the project he had agreed to dedicate his life to might now hold immeasurable power. Instead, there was a thick, irrevocable sadness that seemed to settle on the space between them.

“Orson.” He finally said, his voice barely above a whisper, but he never finished the thought. Instead, he took off his glasses, rubbed his hands over his eyes. Galen hadn’t even needed glasses until after his expedition, when the doctors said that prolonged exposure to the false light of the crystals had damaged his retinas. He opened his mouth slightly to speak again, before closing it clasping his hands together and laying them on the table.

“The potential, Galen, for peace…” This time Galen’s gaze did stop him, and he couldn’t help but frown. “I don’t understand why this upsets you, Galen. Your design is wonderful, it only needs a few modifications to go from an ideal to a usable station. Your work could be reality, your name would be known across the galaxy. Is that not something you want?”

Galen looked at him for another second, seeming to scan him for something, before speaking abruptly. “One of my students has invited me to the Brentaal Program Reunion. It is in three weeks, I thought we might go.” He said softly, and Krennic narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

“If that’s what you want, of course we can go.” He said.

“Okay.” Galen turned the light off of the schematics. “I need to step out for a bit. I will return.”

“We need to discuss this, Galen.” But he didn’t move as he watched Galen turn to leave, fiddling with something in his pocket. Perhaps he simply needed some space, some air. He would realize, eventually, just as the Jedi had, that pacifism was an ideal and an ideal alone. There were times that the galaxy called for power and strength, or at least the threat of it, and now was one of those times. They were being called as the new talent of the Empire, ones who could make a mark in secret that would then bring the galaxy to its proverbial knees in front of them. The power they would possess would be immeasurable. He could taste it on the tip of his tongue, a respite for every taunt or failure he had yet endured at the hands of others who thought his skills too weak to make the kind of impact he dreamed of. And now, he would have Galen by his side. A partner, a friend, a comrade, a lover; together they would be the instrument the Empire used to cripple its enemies and save itself.

So he sighed, waiting on Galen to return, double-checking the preliminary budget where he had allocated months before for the parts used to contrast the laser that Galen was so worried about.

 

 

 

“I am afraid.” Krennic could hear Galen, his voice pulling him from his surprisingly light sleep. He rolled over to find Galen’s half of the bed empty and cold, and sat up in confusion. The voice was coming from the living room, but who would be in the apartment at this time of night for Galen to be talking to?

“Has something happened to you?” It was another voice he recognized, rough though and covered in static. Galen must be using the stationary commlink.

“I cannot say. I am not worried for myself, Lyra.” There was a pause, and Krennic’s blood both boiled and ran cold along his spine. He stood from the bed, pulling his robe around his bare torso, tying it over his sleep pants. “I am worried for Orson.”

“Is he being threatened?”

“No.” Galen said softly, with the strangest tone Krennic had heard. Trying to walk with all the finesse he could muster in his still-sleepy state, he stumbled to the door, trying to stay silent but able to hear what was going on. “Not that I know of.”

“What is it then, Galen? You are starting to scare me.” To her credit, Lyra did sound genuinely worried for Galen. Krennic was as well, hearing soft noises coming from the other room.

“He is changing. The more we work on the project, the more I feel him slipping away.” Krennic blinked, unbelieving of what he was hearing. “His want for power and recognition worries me, Lyra. I cannot support the destruction of innocents in the name of the Empire.”

There was a long moment where there was no noise but those same odd sounds coming from Galen, unfamiliar noises to Krennic. “I cannot give him what he wants, Lyra.” Galen’s voice was thick. “But it will destroy me not to.”

Krennic felt as though a fist were closing over his throat, and another over his heart, and a third over his stomach. He felt like vomiting and sobbing and choking and leaving and wrapping his arms around Galen and berating him and pretending he had never overheard this and destroying the project himself and finishing it to spite his conversation all at one time. So instead, he didn’t move, pressing his forehead to the cool wood of the door.

“Perhaps things will change, Galen.” She said, and even Krennic could tell she was being careful with her words. It was always better not to pick a side.

“I am sorry to have brought you into this,” Galen said suddenly, his voice evening again. “It is not something you should have to concern yourself with.”

“I care about you Galen,” came the reply. “Goodnight. May the force be with you.” An old Jedi saying, all things considered, she could be arrested for uttering it. But Krennic never moved.

“And with you.” Galen said in return, and Krennic heard the distinct crackled of the com station being shut down. But he couldn’t make himself get out of the doorway, he felt rooted in a special kind of agony and stayed purposefully still. He heard Galen shuffle for a few moments, then stand and begin pacing, his feet tapping insistently on the hardwood flooring.

“Perhaps our trip will change things.” He heard him mutter to himself. “Perhaps he will return.” And then the words changed from basic to what must have been Galen’s native speech from Grange, a flow of words Orson had never heard but that strung together like a beautiful Garland. He pressed his forehead to the door for a moment longer before moving back to the bed, knowing that Galen would find him there if he didn’t.

He was back in the covers, almost asleep, when a familiar weight fell into bed beside him. “Orson?” a soft voice said, “Are you awake?”

“Barely.” Was his soft reply, but he turned on his side to look into Galen’s face. A hand came ot the base of his skull, holding his head still so Galen could press his forehead to his.

“Don’t forget that I love you.” Galen said softly. “No matter what else may happen.” Despite the sinking feeling in Orson’s stomach, he reached up a hand to Galen’s face, brushing a soft wetness from one of his cheeks with his thumb, realizing now that the soft noises and strange voice of Galen’s he had heard had been the man crying into the receiver.

“Okay.” He said, pressing a soft kiss to Galen’s lips before pulling away. “Only as long as you do the same.”   


	36. Chapter 36

“You are popular tonight.” Galen spoke as the fourth person who had come up to Krennic in a few minutes, eyes lingering on the Imperial insignia on his chest before extending a hand. Some had tried to do the same to Galen, and Krennic had laughed into his drink as Galen had been unable to return their small talk, only answering direct questions.

“You’ve managed to make yourself distinctly unpopular.” He pressed a gloved hand to Galen’s shoulder, laughing into his own forearm as Galen’s ears started to redden. “Did you do that on purpose when we went here?”

“You know I don’t care for attention.” Galen muttered, seemingly angry, but the smirk on his face told Krennic otherwise.

“I’ll admit, I would prefer some better people’s attention.” Krennic said, Galen having to cover his laugh as a man who had been two years ahead of them, failed the only two classes they had together and scarcely graduated from the program, came over to shake hands with them.

“They still like showing off your recreation center, Mr. Krennic.”

“It’s lieutenant, actually.” He said, shaking the man’s hand either way. The man looked slightly dismayed, but nodding in acknowledgement.

“I’m afraid I don’t know you.” He turned to Galen, who Krennic watched reach out and take his hand with a thin lipped smile that Galen seemed to think was perfectly appropriate.

“Galen Erso.” He said quietly.

“Doctor Galen Erso,” Krennic spoke up, and the man gave a polite smile. “How have you been?”

“I’m a technician for the Corp. of engineers.” The man said, and Krennic wondered how long before it would take him to figure out their names. “I saw your badge, and I remembered we had physics together at one point. I thought I might say hello.”

“Of course,” Krennic tipped his drink back a bit. “The technicians do some incredible work. If you have a card, I’d be happy to take it, keep you in mind. I know we have some important projects that will be coming along soon enough.” The man smiled gratefully, and Krennic knew he had hit the real reason the man had come over. He took the pressed card between his fingers as the man excused himself and stepped back into the crowd of older people milling about.

“I don’ t see how he didn’t remember you, Galen. I’ve always found you rather striking.” Krennic could feel the slight pull of alcohol, his words towards Galen becoming more and more suggestive, his actions involving a lot more touching as even now he slid a hand down Galen’s arm. He had been taking full advantage of the free bar service, while Galen had been cradling the same glass of whiskey for so long that the ice cubes had melted into thin slivers that seemed almost encased in amber.

“And I once gave him notes for the only quiz he passed in particle theory.” Galen said and Krennic laughed out loud, attracting the attention of an older man nearby who looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m going to see if Dr. du Maurier is here. I will be back.” Krennic watched Galen step away, the next contestant for his attention approaching.

 

 

 

Galen stood by the side for a moment, debating whether or not to eat one of the danishes that were available. He and Orson had already made two stops at their old pastry shop in downtown, mainly to get the spice cakes Orson so enjoyed, and to get a few large bags of the candy that Orson typically had to order to ensure that he received back on Coruscant.

Du Maurier was standing a bit away, speaking with a woman who was several years older than Galen, old enough for them not to have been in the program together at all, but clearly not so far away that she had gotten to have the doctor for at least a single class, since they were talking in a way that almost made Galen jealous and wish he was capable of. As many faculty as Galen had at the institute, this was the only professor he had actually been able to bond with on any sort of level, one who both gave him space and provided him the opportunities that had given him the position he held now.

“Some kind of party, isn’t it?” A man came up to stand beside Galen, who blinked and stepped deftly out of his way. “A lot of ego boosting if you ask me.”

The man picked up a small cracker and took a bite from it, seemingly unbothered by Galen’s lack of a response. “A lot of nonsense if you ask me, you need real talent to actually get somewhere.”

Galen nodded, wondering why this man had chosen him of all people to speak of. Clearly, there were others much more suited to this sort of thing wondering about the room. With a start, he realized that was probably the reason.

“That man, for example. Seems rather self-important.” Galen followed the man’s haphazard gesture to a man wearing a strange orange outfit, overshadowing his conversation partner with his back turned to Galen. “He only stops talking about himself when that man says something.” Galen watched, and as the man turned, realized that the man in question was in fact, Orson, who was listening animatedly to something that another stranger was saying.

Galen blinked, trying to process exactly what this man was saying. "I don't know about you, but I would need something stronger that what I'm drinking to deal with that for more than twenty minutes." Galen turned, and in his mind was picturing all of the beautiful conversations he and Orson had had, the man talking so intensely about something he was passionate about, but also listening to Galen's own words with the same fervor. Things that this man, whom Galen did not even know, could never understand about Orson. Galen set his glass on the table, feeling his usually well-guarded anger starting to rise.

“I mean, who wears their employment insignia...” But the thought never fully passed the man’s lips before Galen’s fist connected with the side of his head and he crashed to the ground, his glass smashing into the ground, and splintering into a thousand shards of glass as the room fell silent around them. Galen felt his face burning, both with anger he hadn’t known he had within him and the realization that everyone was now staring at him.

He looked up, feeling the panic start to swell in his chest as their gazes settled in on him. He looked up, moving his eyes past those who were unfamiliar, past everyone who was gaping or amused or horrified that their pretentious affair had been disrupted by someone like him. But then he looked farther, and his eyes caught the pair of familiar blue ones that were boring into him. But he couldn’t relax, because attached to those eyes, that he longed to let comfort him as they always had, was a wide smile that made his blood run cold.


	37. Chapter 37

The time had come for Galen to make a choice for himself. The die was cast, and his decision to remain a part of the project was now non-negotiable. After they had come back from the reunion, his hand swollen and bruised from knocking a man out cold on the floor, it had been easy enough for Orson. Easy enough to whisper pretty words and sway Galen to the project after he had seen him. Easy enough to speak freely about the goals of peace, the true goal of the project, and how those modifications would be the design that saved the galaxy for them. How it was clear that Galen had only needed time, time and a bit of a slight pressure to see that his ideals were ideals only and that reality was a much harsher place.

And he had bought it. Perhaps that was something he was coming to despise about himself. He could see it, every time his heart still beat faster when Orson would press against, every time he found himself leaning in for a kiss that he wanted desperately to grant the same familiarity that it always had. He could feel weakness, buried beneath the many layers of thoughts that kept his mind on fire as he poured over everything beyond himself. But he would have to find strength.

It was easy enough, too, to pack all of his things into neat parcels and boxes, to set his bags on the bed and to sit amongst them as he waited for Orson to arrive home from his daily work. He would be frustrated that Galen had not come to the office, frustrated that he hadn’t come to work on the project immediately as they had planned. But he would also be fanatic with his latest successes. But for once, they would not talk about them.

Galen folded the pass he kept into his pocket, leaving it in his pocket for a few moments. They would continue to work together, he was firmly in the Empire’s grip at this point, but that did not mean he could stay in Orson’s.

“Galen.” It seemed both seconds and hours that a boisterous voice came from the front door, the click of the lock impossibly loud. “Galen, I have excellent news!” Galen hurt, he could feel the pain with each breath. He heard Orson stop, his boots hard on the floor.

“Galen?” Another call, confused when Galen didn’t answer, but his lips felt heavy as if the weight of the galaxy was resting on his silence. Perhaps it was.

He saw Orson turn in the dim light of the city, looking almost freed from the burdens that Galen now knew that he carried. Shrouded in white, the glittering lights catching the faint blonde strands in his hair, Orson looked almost weightless. Galen gave a faint smile, remembering times past. But he would be strong now, call on those reserve that he had let sit dormant too long. But then Orson turned to him.

“Galen.” He repeated softly, his eyes taking in the entire scene in with keen the keen observance he approached all things. But his sharp eyes softened, the bottom half of his face falling. “Are you going somewhere?” Galen hears the hint of laughter and he knows that Galen is fully aware of what is happening.

“Yes.” He answers, standing to face Orson. He is surprised by the small amount of things he owns, enough he can carry them all in his arms with relative ease. He knows that the cab he has called in will arrive in short order and he has to meet them.

“Galen…the project…” It is then Galen realizes that if something else had been the first words from Orson’s mouth: the program, their trip to Lexrule, their time spent here, his trip, anything else, then he might not walk out the door like he knows he has to now. Orson is no longer the Orson that he was, despite the fact that he may look like the same, with the same soft lines as it has always had. “…our future…” But it is too late for that sort of sentiment now.

“I am not leaving the project.” He says almost robotically. “I will be there tomorrow as usual.”

“No.” Orson almost whispers, and Galen can feel the anger thinly masked behind his words. “You’re leaving me.”

“No.” Galen said again, and Orson looks at him with so much hope that to draw breath is painful. “I am leaving us.”

He takes his things in his arms, and to his surprise, Orson steps out of his way to allow him to pass by his easily. He makes it all the way to the door before a small voice stops him.

“Wait.” He sees Orson, and sees the unhidden, never shed tears. “Why, Galen? After everything we’ve been through?”

“That is the precise reason, Orson.” He stops, letting his own tears run down his face. It is hard, though to justify crying for a relationship between two people who no longer exist. “We have changed each other too much.”

“We could be great, Galen.” There is that anger again, and it hurts Galen to hear it. “I love you.” Then the irrepressible softness again.

“I will always love you, Orson.” Galen said, with a soft smile at the man behind him as he sees the speeder cab come into view. “And that is part of the reason why I must leave now. I cannot watch you do this to yourself, Orson.”

“Don’t pity me, Galen.” He says, and Galen shakes his head. It is impossible not too pity Orson, who could be so much more than the molded man they are forcing him to be in the confines of the Empire. He wonders, vaguely, if he will feel that same stab years from now when all of Orson’s goals come to fruition.

He pauses for another moment, reaches into his pocket and pulls the familiar weight from his pocket, running his fingers a final time over the insignia that he almost shared, and set it on the table by the door.

It wasn’t until he was sitting, alone, in the hotel room that he realized the crystal Orson had given him was still in his pocket. He set it on the rickety nightstand, keeping his eyes fixed on the pale glow as the tears flowed freely and sleep never came.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delays, April is the fucking worst time to be in college. I'm hoping for still at least once per week, and I will definitely complete the story, so don't worry about that! :D  
> Thank you all for continuing to read, your reviews and kudos always make my day.

He stood, breathing in what had to be the scent of cheap air freshener used to disguise something a scent the cleaning crew couldn’t get rid of. His face twitched, wondering why Galen would choose to stay in this hotel of all the hotels in Coruscant. He knew the man had more than enough money to stay somewhere comfortably, to get a nice apartment. Finances were something they had always shared, and since he had been paid for three years while also having no expenses, it was frustrating to see him living in relative squalor. He refused to acknowledge that Galen might have come here under the assumption that he wouldn’t’ follow him to such a place.

At that, Krennic steeled himself, ignoring what was obviously a domestic squabble in one of the rooms close to him, and choosing instead to walk through the hall to Galen’s room, ignoring the peeling paint, the carpet that didn’t quite reach the floor, the maid cart that didn’t appear to have been moved for, at minimum, several days. He stopped in front of room 216, wondering if the locks even fully worked, but knocked regardless. He could hear a chair moving inside, footsteps, and a pause. He didn’t move, instead looking into the small keyhole where he knew Galen was looking at him. He waited, half-expecting the man to say nothing and wait on him to leave.

Instead, the door opened to show Galen, his entire outfit slightly mussed. He appeared to be ready to go somewhere, not wearing his nice clothes but no his casual clothes either. He did not seem surprised by Krennic’s arrival, nor troubled by it. In fact, he seemed entirely impassive, and Krennic felt his temper flare slightly, but he beat back the flames.

“May I come in for a moment?” Galen blinked slowly, but opened the door more widely, allowing Orson to enter. He took a deep breath as Galen shut the door behind him, Galen’s room was impeccably clean, the musty, decrepit smell of the hallway erased. Though the furniture itself seemed rundown, the room had the smell of the cleaner that Galen had used to clean their shared for years, and then their apartment when he had returned from his expedition. Orson closed his eyes and breathed as deeply as he could without making it obvious.

“I hope I’m not intruding on anything, Galen. You look like you were headed out.” Galen said nothing, instead straightening a stack of papers on the side table. Krennic watched him carefully for signs of anything that might hint at what was happening inside his head, but Galen had all of his walls up at the moment. Every thick layer that Krennic had taken such care to chip away in all of their time together.

Those same walls had been up for weeks. Since the morning after, when Krennic would have sworn that what he ranked as the worst of his life hadn’t affected Galen at all, if it hadn’t been for the shadows that hung heavy under Galen’s eyes. But he had not smiled, or frowned, merely worked in a tangential arc to Krennic, steadily working through plans and blueprints and calculations as if that were the only thing he had ever done. Chewed on one of the abysmal, dressing-less salads he had always insisted on eating, and doing a poor job engaging anyone in conversation. Krennic had almost not believed it was an actual day until he went back to his apartment and both Galen and the good whiskey were gone and he had slammed gloved hands on the piano keys until the sound drowned out any thoughts he had had, at least for a few moments.

It had continued like that since that day, and each day his four hours spent in quiet confinement with Galen had mounted, at least to him, into an almost unbearable tension. “Does the project require attention?”

Galen spoke, Krennic blinked, shaking his head in admonishment. “I’m not here to discuss the project, Galen.”

“Oh.” He could feel his temper again. But Galen looked up at him, his dark eyes locking onto Krennic’s with an unvaried intensity.

“We haven’t spoken, Galen.”

“We speak daily, Orson.” His chest ached as Galen’s mouth formed around his name, his accent letting his voice tip upwards as he said it. He realized how long it had been since he heard it, his first name a seemingly unnecessary part of his life. Lieutenant. Project Supervisor. Officer. All titles that had replaced it in his common life.

“We speak of trivial things, Galen!” He said, throwing his coat onto a chair, and taking a step forward. “Numbers, charts, data…that is all we say anymore.”

He was only a few inches from Galen, the man’s expression unchanging as he looked at Orson. “The project does not seem trivial to you, Orson.” He finally responded, and Krennic pressed his lips together, looking to the side of Galen’s eyes.

“Galen, I was trying to make a life for us. A name for us.” Krennic said, reaching up to place a hand on Galen’s chest, surprised that he did not pull away from his touch. “We could have had everything, I would have given you…everything.”

“There is more than power, Orson.” Galen was almost whispering, the words barely reaching Krennic in the charged air between them. “More than what you thought we needed.”

“A family, Galen?” He said. “Is that what you want? A child?” Galen said nothing, but he didn’t have to, his eyes narrowing slightly. “We could have that, Galen. When the project is over, we can have whatever you want.”

“You don’t like children, Orson.” Galen said, and finally, the pain in his voice cut through the façade. In an old gesture of comfort, Krennic slid his hand to Galne’s shoulder, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“You can teach me.” Krennic said. “Together, Galen.” He waited on an answer, his impatience showing through. “Please, Galen. Think of everything we’ve done, of all we can do together. Come back to me.”

And that was when the room changed again, and Galen’s arms were around him, one hand titling his face upwards up to press their lips together. His hands twisted in hair, pulled at clothes as his world became absorbed by Galen once again.

 

 

 

He blinked, his back aching slightly from the uncomfortable bed, but his body perfectly sore from the nights activities. But the bed was cold, despite the fact that he was curled, in this typical fashion, in all the blankets that were available. He heard shuffling in the other room, and climbed out of bed, pulling his pants and undershirt back on to fight off the chill.

“Galen?”

He was expecting Galen to be partaking in his usual morning routine: brushing his teeth, eating a small breakfast of fruit, reading the latest news quickly on the holonet. Instead, he found him already fully dressed, showered, sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands clenched together and his forehead pressed to them. “Galen?” He asked, and the man looked up at him, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“I have obligations, Orson.” He said, and Krennic nodded, wondering again if last night and all of its splendor had been a horrific trick he had played on himself. But everything screamed that it was true. “I will talk to you tomorrow.” Galen said, and took a handful of items from the cheap stand by the door before he disappeared without so much as another glance at Krennic.

Krennic sighed, going to pick up his clothes, disappointed they couldn’t have enjoyed a nice breakfast together somewhere in the city, or talked about the events of the night before. Of whispered promises. But if Galen had things to do, he should leave him to them. They were healing, and despite his insistence that their relationship be righted immediately, he was willing to wait.

He left the apartment happy, his mind settled on the metal insignia collecting dust on the end table where Galen had left it. Perhaps it would rejoin the crystal he had seen on Galen’s nightstand soon enough.


	39. Chapter 39

“It’s a nice place, Galen. I’m glad you found something you liked.” Galen watched as Lyra unloaded the last box of glassware into his cabinet, lining it with mismatched cups that Orson would have scoffed at in the wake of the matching sets he kept in his apartment. Galen, however, was fond of all the chips and kinks in these, the changes in texture gave him things to trace with his fingers while he thought, providing that small amount of distraction from his own mind. “You needed your own space.”

Galen was well aware of the double meaning. He knew that Lyra knew that the first night Orson had spent with him in the hotel was not the only night he had spent there. He had gone to eat lunch with her afterwards, and had been unable to keep the fact that he was deeply troubled from her. Eventually, after his initial reluctance, she had shared that small fact with her, and beyond that, it was clear to her every time Orson would come over and Galen couldn’t make his mind or his body say no to what had been his greatest piece of comfort and affection in his life.

It was also no secret that Lyra did not like Orson. The more Galen told her about him, the greater her frown became when he would come up. But to her credit, she had never said anything against him. Never a harsh whisper that Galen could practically hear hovering at the edge of her lips. Only once had she asked him, when he had come to her apartment, sitting very much alone on her couch, crying softly after one their encounters, if Orson was hurting him.

There was no answer to that question. Every kiss, every touch, every movement of Orson’s body ignited the fire inside of him that he had found with him. At the same time, it made him want to collapse inside himself, his insides threatening to revolt against him and whatever he had eaten when he thoguth of the consequences of Orson’s ambition. So much anger, so much destruction attached to the same gentle face he had always known so well. It was killing him, but there was little he could do for him at this late stage, and to Galen, he was far more at fault than Orson ever would be for this.

“I will be nice to be able to spread out my items.” Galen agreed, emptying the silverware into the drawer next to him. It was odd, to be using different plates and cups and forks and knives than he had used for years. They stacked differently in the cabinet, and held themselves up differently in his dishwasher, and didn’t feel quite the same on his fingers. But he accepted that some things did have to change, as much as it would have been nice for them not to.

“When does the rest of your furniture arrive?” He racked his brain, thinking through the hundred different times he had been given for each piece.

“Between tomorrow and two days from now. After work each day. The couch arrives tomorrow.” He had ordered a small couch, determined to make this a homestay for himself. He had let his mind drift to the possibility that he might move back in with Orson, but he had steeled his resolve to try and give himself some distance from that. Lyra nodded, dismantling the box and putting it with the others for the collection droids to pick up.

“What about a drink to celebrate?” She asked. Galen frowned slightly, not sure he was up for the social interactions of a bar or pub that he and Lyra had occasionally visited when he needed alcohol and a way out of his own mind. “I brought wine.” She added, gesturing to where the bottle must have been in the fridge.

Minutes later, and he was sipping a dark red, but sweet wine out of a mug he would normally use for caf, leaning back on the counter as Lyra poured her own. “How have you been, Lyra? I know I do not ask often enough.”

“I’ve been as you’ve seen me, Galen. Trying to live through all of this and come out the same person on the other side.”

“Perhaps it is better if we do not come out the same.” Galen said thoughtfully, his mind woefully going to Orson again, thinking of all of him that had changed, wondering if he was perhaps drinking a glass of brandy or contemplating calling Galen as he sometimes did late at night. Orson did not know of his move, but Galen was certain he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from telling the man soon enough. He had lacked the constitution to refuse him thus far, and unless something changed, there was little chance this would remain hidden from him.

“Maybe.” Lyra said. “But I think we all like to think we are decent people at the end of the day.” Galen laughed, happy for the thought as Lyra took a heavy sip. It was certainly true. He would like to think that Galen Erso was a decent man, though he couldn’t ignore the gnawing doubt that surfaced every time he walked into his office to work on their joint project. Or when he whispered promises into Orson’s skin when they were in the throes of making love and all he could feel was good.

“And that we are surrounded with decent people.” Galen added, taking a deep drink of wine, despite the fact that he knew that wasn’t how it was supposed to be enjoyed at all. The slight burn of the light alcohol was perfect, exactly what he needed. He watched Lyra, with her arm folded across her chest, as she sipped at her own, lost in thought.

“You’re a good man, Galen. I wish things were easier for you.” To what she was specifically referring, Galen couldn’t say. It was in that moment he realized all that she had listened to from him. All of the stories, the crying, the horrible bouts of self-loathing. All of things he had not been able to share with Orson, all the things that had driven them apart. Here was Lyra, drinking wine from a chipped coffee mug, expecting nothing from him but the friendship he had been able to offer her.

He took a small step closer to her, and she looked at him over the rim of her cup. He wasn’t quite sure what was racing through his mind, but for once, it wasn’t an incessant press of Orson Krennic. There was no image of perfectly clipped brown hair, or the flourish of a white Imperial suit, or rough gloves on his skin instead of hands. “Are you alright, Galen?” She said, though her voice was different. He closed his eyes, setting his cup down and letting out a steadying breath.

When he opened them, she was closer to him, her skin only centimeters from his own. One of her hands came up to his face, a familiar but now electrifying touch and her thumb ran along his jaw. Galen looked down at her, realizing that the kindness he had always seen in her eyes had not wavered, and if he were to pull back from her now, she would not be angry with him. Could the same be said for Orson?

So instead, he leaned into her, let the swirling taste of wine go straight to his head, feeling no guilt behind a kiss for the first time in what felt like years and felt the view he had held of himself for so long start to slip away.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a skip! Don't worry, I'll cover what happened! :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, please R and R, they always make my day!

“How is she, Galen?” He couldn’t speak, choked with some new emotion. A fierce protectiveness, a wondrous amazement. This tiny person, looking back up at him with his own eyes, her hand wrapped tight around his fingers in what he knew was an instinctual response but felt very much like love, was now filling a place in his chest he hadn’t known was empty. This was something he could not quantify, an incredible feeling, holding her, swaddled in a small green blanket, tight to his chest. “Galen?” Lyra’s voice, tired and a bit concerned broke him from his trance.

“She is perfect.” He said, and sat on the bed gently, trying not to disturb little Jyn too much as she blinked her still-pink eyes on her way to her very first nap. She was, in her few hours of life thus far, a quiet baby, similar to stories Galen had heard about his own life as an infant from his mother. But she far more resembled Lyra, who looked at her, still exhausted from her earlier ordeal, and brushed fingers against the soft brown hairs that their child already had.

He was excited to take her home. To take both of them home and place Jyn in the nursery he had designed for her. It was dark green, his favorite color that reminded him so much of home, and the things that decorated the walls were reminiscent of the forests and greenery that mingled so strangely with the regular bustle of Coruscant and the highly technical design of everything around them. She had, waiting for them, all the gifts bestowed to Lyra at the baby shower from the University, all the gifts given to Galen courtesy of the Imperials he worked with. Congratulations from Governor Tarkin, etched in thin black script. Congratulations from the Emporer himself, though the transmission he had received seemed very standard and quite impersonal.

“Rest, Lyra, I will watch her.” Lyra smiled at him grateful, looking at their daughter with both care and exhaustion. Galen moved to a chair, dimming the lights so that Lyra might drift off to sleep more easily. But he kept the warmth that was little Jyn cradled to his chest. She didn’t move too much, tightly held in her blankets, but she did snuggle closer to his chest, opening her mouth just a bit as she turned.

He only looked up at a soft knock at the door, and watched as the same nurse who had been helping them all day came in, her arms full of flowers. “I’m sorry, baby, you got a delivery and it was too pretty to keep outside.” She was an older woman who Galen could not help but liking. She had understood, far faster than Lyra’s doctors that Galen understood every words she said in regards to procedures and medical queries, but was not very responsive to any form of social interactions. She didn’t coddle him, or repeat things when he would do little more than an almost imperceptible not. For that, he was grateful.

“I’ll just put them over here, baby.” She had taken to calling him baby, but he had a feeling most patients were referred to as such. She set the flowers down on the nightstand, near Galen. “I remember when my first little one was born, my husband was the same way. Held her the whole night.”

She looked over, her eyes softening at Galen’s smile. “What’s her name?”

“Jyn.” He answered softly. “Jyn Erso.” She pressed a weathered hand to his shoulder.

“She’s beautiful, baby, she’s lucky to have such good parents.” She added, and, looking over at the bouquet, “And such good friends.”

She waved a little goodbye, stepping out with some hard leaning on a weathering hip. Galen needed to ask her name. Send her a thank you.

“Who sent us flowers, Jyn?” It was most likely Lyra’s staff. Galen had very few people he would consider himself close to, and even fewer that would send flowers. They were beautiful, pure white with dark green foliage interspersed. He reached out a hand, taking the card attached in between his fingers: To Galen, Lyra, and baby Erso.” He smiled, running a fingertip along her tiny, round cheek as he undid the envelope with one hand.

When he finally opened it, familiar handwriting met his eyes. He let the envelope fall to the floor as he took in the note. It was short, succinct, and carried with it over a decade of tribulation.

“All my love.” It read, in scrawling script, attempting to look elegant and it would have it Galen could not picture the painstaking, repeated efforts it had taken to write it. “To you and your family.”

Galen set the note back down, letting Jyn’s weight settle in his arms. He would not let this moment be ruined, not their first night with all three of them together. It fluttered gently, landing next to the vase. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to let the last year pass into the air around him, trying to let Jyn, his rock, his child anchor him to this moment and not to let the tears that burned his eyes slip down his cheeks.

“Orson Krennic.” It had said at the bottom, and he realized he had overlooked the only person in his life who would ever send flowers, who would ever think to send flowers, simply because Galen had not given him enough credit to do so. He couldn’t stop a single tear, from flowing, though it came and passed as Jyn’s soft cries of waking startled him, determined to shush her back into a protective lull, where she could be safe from things such as this.

And then, even as she curled again and held tight to his finger until she fell asleep again, was the creeping feeling of guilt. His and Orson’s project, started so long beforehand, was finally making real headway. What kind of galaxy would there be for her if came true? How safe when she be if he was the one constructing danger all around her?


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for reviews and kudos! I realize now how long I've been working on this particular story, and it thrills me that people are still reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter, please R and R as always, I love hearing what you all have to say!

Orson Krennic stood and fixed his clothes, a dark grey ensemble that he knew cut his face just right and made his eyes seem bluer than they actually were. One might say he had dressed with a purpose. He wasn’t sure yet, if that were truly the case. Still undecided, he knocked on the unfamiliar apartment door which he had cross checked three times to make sure it was the right one.

The door opened to a familiar face though not the one he had hoped to see. Lyra Erso, her hair done up in a somewhat messy bun, pinned behind her ears, her brown eyes looking at him with a serious expression stood in front of him. He extended a hand, “Lyra. It’s nice to see you.” It was clear that his sentiment was not returned, and he was almost relived that there wouldn’t have to be any level of pretending between them that they would ever be friends. But they could be friendly, for Galen’s sake.

“Who is that, Stardust?” Lyra released his hand as Galen spoke, opening the door wider to allow him access to their apartment. He stepped in, forcing himself to walk after the image in front of him nearly floored him and froze him in place. It was Galen, around his body was wrapped an elaborated sling made of yards of fabric colored different shades of green. Cradled inside, though Krennic could only hear happy gurgles and see a tuft of dark brown hair, the same color as Lyra’s, must have been Jyn Erso, whose existence had proven to be an odd pivot point for Krennic. “It’s your new friend. My old one.”

Krennic watched as Galen smiled, a smile full of such genuine happiness that Krennic’s chest ached for a moment before he shook it away. He had not expected to feel so moved, to see Galen surrounded in the fatherhood he had known the man had always wished for, ever since he had seen him with the little girl and their glasses in what certainly felt like a different lifetime. He had not expected to feel at such a loss for it, to watch Galen cradle this infant, whose tiny fist emerged from her wrappings to wrap around one of Galen’s fingers.

“Orson.” The man finally looked up, and Krennic was surprised to see the warmth in them. A genuine smile, only for him. “I’m glad you decided to come to dinner.”

“Of course.” He answered, feeling the lie through his teeth. There was never an “of course” for them anymore. Not after everything that had happened, not after everything both of them had been through, and the project continuing to loom over them. “I have something for the child.”

“Jyn.” It was as if Lyra had appeared out of nowhere, gingerly taking the package from his hand. “Her name is Jyn.”

“For Jyn, then.”  Krennic corrected himself.

“Why don’t you put Jyn to bed, Galen, and we’ll eat.” Lyra said, not looking at Krennic, but instead at her husband who was rocking a now sleeping child against his chest.

“Would you like to see her, Orson?” And Galen sounded so genuinely excited to share his child with him, that he couldn’t say no. He wasn’t sure where his disdain for children came from, probably from his own childhood of being treated like simply a miniature adult, or maybe from his school days when he had found most people almost unbearably immature.

But now, watching as Galen folded back the blanket form his shoulders, undoing a single elaborate knot, but keeping Jyn close to his chest with a strong arm. She strongly favored Lyra, that much was clear. Dark hair, fair skin, and as her tiny eyes blinked open, the same deep brown of her mother. But Galen was there too. Physically in that even as a small child, she was longer than most recently born children, her face, though round with infancy, had some of the defined lines of her father’s face. And then, as her eyes took in Orson Krennic for the first time, they had the exact intensity, a reverent curiosity as they tracked every feature of his face, every line and every detail.

“Hello.” He said, not quite knowing what else to say to her. He thought he might have heard Lyra stifle a giggle behind him, but chose to ignore it. “You are a beautiful child, Jyn Erso.” He knew he sounded very matter-of-fact, but he couldn’t bring himself to do baby talk like he had heard. She was still a human being, and he wouldn’t be so undignified to address her any differently.

She blinked at her name before making a small noise at him, pressing her feet against Galen’s arm as closed her eyes softly to go back to sleep. “I will put her to bed.” Galen said, and looking up at him, Krennic could practically feel the warmth coming off of him, the affection for the baby.

“Thank you for the gift.” Lyra startled him. “And the flowers you sent when she was born.”

It was a concession, an attempt to allow them to be back in each others good graces. So Krennic smiled, not one to ignore such an open invitation for less hostility. “You’re more than welcome, though it may take a while before she is big enough to play with it.” He said. “He seemed happy.”

“Mostly.” Lyra said, and, after their eyes stayed locked for another moment, she stepped away to turn off the small oven timer and remove what seemed to be some sort of baked pasta from the oven. From the smell, it was a mid-rim dish, one of Krennic’s own favorites, and he couldn’t help but feel happy that Galen had remembered since it certainly wasn’t by accident.

“She should sleep through dinner.” Galen reappeared quietly, still smiling though Krennic culc see the familiar dark rings of fatigue under his eyes. “If not, I will tend to her.” He went to stand next to Lyra, rifling through the cabinets.

“Would you like wine or whiskey, Orson? We have both.” He said from within, and Krennic watched as Lyra put a gentle hand on his arm to keep it out of the food. A gentle, domestic-looking touch of two people comfortable with life together. He swallowed thickly, remembering how he and Galen had never quite gotten there. Their touches were always tinged with passion of some sort: rage at the injustices of life around them, desire for the other, and, in the end, anger at the fact they couldn’t figure out how not to be together until finally it had consumed them.

“Wine, please. It pairs well with the food.” Lyra moved it to the table, and he nodded at her. “It smells delicious.”

“Thank you.” Galen answered from the cabinet, and Lyra shot him a playfully indignent look. “I can’t ie to Orson, Lyra, you know I made the food.”

“I got it out of the oven,” she retorted. “That has to count for something.” Galen smiled but said nothing, setting a glass of rice red wine at each of the three place settings. Krennic nodded his thanks to him, again as he served him a large square of the pasta in a slightly chipped bowl and joined him at the table.

There was silence for a moment as they all took a bite. The pasta was delicious, heavier on the cream than on the cheese, exactly the way Krennic had always liked it. “This is delicious!” He said, trying not to sound too surprised.

“Thank you, Orson.” Galen said back, taking his own bite slowly, then smiling. “It is a new recipe, but one I have been meaning to try.” There was another bout of silence, and Krennic could almost feel the air thickening between the three of them. There were several elephants in the room: the fact that Galen and Lyra had eloped one night and Galen had told Krennic the next day, the fact that Krennic had found out about Lyra’s pregnancy from Tarkin of all people, the fact that Lyra had stormed into Krennic’s office one day during her second trimester and practically threatened to shoot him if he didn’t allow Galen to leave the project. All things, it seemed, that all of them were determined not to mention.

“It has been quiet at work with you on paternity leave, Galen.” Krennic finally said, getting a sharp look from Lyra. “Though it seems like it has been more than worth it. She is an exceptional child.”

Galen smiled at him, raising his eyebrows at Lyra who nodded her thanks as well. “I couldn’t have done it without him.” Lyra agreed, “How have things been for you, Orson?” She asked politely.

It was a question laced with either somewhat malicious intent, though it didn’t seem it, or a touch of forgiveness. “They’ve been going quite well. I work full-time on the initiative, and do many of my usual activities. It has been nice.”

The conversation continued after that, inquiries about trivial matters, with the bulk of it being held surprisingly between himself and Lyra. Or perhaps unsurprisingly, as Galen had always been a man of few words. By the end of dinner, where he insisted on helping wash the dishes, it seemed to him that if there had been a boulder built between them, a small piece had been chipped away now. Perhaps unnoticeable, but a piece nonetheless.

He made to leave, coat laid over his arm, with that same strange ache in his chest as he heard the baby let out a little cry from her room. Galen moved in an instant, but Lyra stopped him. “I will tend to her.” She said, and gave him a pointed look. Galen nodded. He looked at Krennic for a long moment, before smiling softly and, to Krennic’s eternal surprise, reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder.

“I hope that this is not the last dinner we share, Orson.” He said softly.

“Of course not, Galen.” He said, straightening himself to stand as upright as possible. “I will have you all over for dinner next if that is alright.”

Galen nodded, and Krennic could feel his eyes on the back of his head as he stepped into the hallway.

That night, several fingers into a bottle of whiskey, he found himself asking too many unanswerable questions about his entire life and whether everything was going to be worth it in the end. Eventually, the alcohol washed away everything but the feeling of nothingness and he woke up the next morning with the taste of disappointment in his mouth as the image of Galen holding their child proved to be only a dream after all.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ackkk! thank you all for your comments on the last chapter, I am always genuinely grateful and apologize for the delay on getting this one up! Thank you all for continuing to read! :D :D :D :D As always, I hope you enjoy!

“I brought lunch, Galen!” Galen heard a loud voice from the doorway. “It is a day to celebrate.” Galen agreed. Jyn was now six months old; Lyra had gotten him an actual flimsi copy of her picture which now rested in his breast pocket. He seriously doubted, however, that that was why Orson was celebrating. He gave a little hum of agreement, though, working over a set of schematics that had been left for him upon his arrival that morning. Reactor gradients, kyber orders, supply expense. All things he would rather let someone more comfortable in accounting handle, and all things that, as he felt the small slight of satisfaction as they were completed, he could feel the horrible wrenching of his stomach knowing what exactly that meant and his fingers would stall over the numbers left there on the page.

“Do you know why we’re celebrating, Galen?” He looked up as Orson began to set out the plain sandwich and containers of toppings he always enjoyed. His own fruit salad and sandwich from the deli they hadn’t frequented in such a long time together. He blinked, genuinely unsure.

“In space construction began this morning!” Orson announced, as if speaking to an entire room. Galen couldn’t bring himself to fake a smile, instead reaching for the wrapped sandwich. Orson nearly faltered, but it passed in the same flourish that he sat down with, wrapping the cape he had taken to wearing so that it wouldn’t be caught under him on the chair.

“Have they begun the shipments from Jedha City?”

“Stripping on the temple begins next week. It will take years to collect it all.”

“Stripping the temple?” Galen asked, feeling an olive piece lodge in his throat.

“It’s impossible, of course, to get all of the kyber out unless they move some of the old Jedi relics. They aren’t much use to anyone, anymore.” Galen swallowed thickly, thinking of the beautiful architecture and the peaceful monks he had met. There was news, rumors from around the Empire that some Jedi had managed to survive. No one had seen Anakin Skywalker since Lord Vader’s arrival at Palpatine’s side. The Republic’s greatest hero was missing in action, and to some, that was perhaps a sign of hope. There were rumors still that Vader himself had once been a Jedi, changed to Palpatine’s side by, in  words that would have otherwise seemed treasonous, the corruption in their own order.

Galen was not sure what he thought. There was a large part of him entirely certain that Anakin Skywalker was long dead. Hints of the chosen one had followed him throughout the war, and Galen doubted the emperor would have left someone who was that powerful alive and well. As for Vader, he couldn’t place him. It was as if he had appeared from nowhere. A force-user, but certainly not a Jedi. He wanted to know more about him, about his life before his turn as Palpatine’s enforcer, but, like the rest of the Empire, he would have to wait.

Orson had met him. Once. When he was out, studying and modeling the architecture on distant planets before the project began, planning to bring a modern style to the classic layout, and Lord Vader had arrived there while he was still on site. Orson had described the experience too him, horrifying in its essence, and from what Galen knew of Lord Vader, that seemed to be the consensus. Imposing, terrifying, injured, and cruel. Orson had known him as angry, hunting for another lost Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi, another General from the War, and he had destroyed half of an Imperial barrack in his anger at not finding him there after following some rumor. Orson had shuddered at the thought of the memory as he explained it to Galen, wrought with some inexplicable and terrifying power.

“Is the sandwich not good, Galen? I had it prepared as you used to like them.” Galen startled out of his thoughts, looking up to a pair of sharp blue eyes looking back at him. “I can have them come and bring you a new one.”

“It is fine.” He said, and, as if to emphasize his point, swallowed another bite of it. Orson seemed satisfied at least, and began speaking of the project, his pride they had finally begun the second phase of construction, and that soon, there might be enough of a station built that it would be residual for officers and troopers and construction crews. Now, his sandwich tasted like sand.

“Is there no one left who knows of the Jedi traditions?”

“What?” Krennic stopped mid-sentence and Galen’s ears reddened when he realized he’d interrupted. “I doubt it, why do you ask?”

“They were a civilization, a culture. Wasn’t their destruction an act of genocide?” Galen kept his voice level, inquiring as someone might ask about coffee flavorings. But inside, he was burning, raging with indignation at the thought.

“If it was, then it was a necessary one.” Orson had stopped eating now, his own food set back on its wrapper. An all-vegetable sandwich, one Galen had never seen him eat, but had seem other officers choose. Another bit of Orson’s persona, one that controlled his private choices now. “They were dangerous criminals, murderers.” He was trying to control his temper. Galen said nothing.

“Do you care about their temple, Galen?” Galen blinked. “Why? Why does it matter what happens to a bunch of rocks and stones and relics that come from a people that have been extinct for years and won’t ever come back? We are making progress here, Galen, bettering the galaxy. It can cost all the rocks and statues in the world for all I care, Galen.”

Orson was repeating his name. It had taken him a few years to realize the subtle manipulation of that, the attempt to goad him into agreeing with him by making their connection more personal. To make things seem like personal favors. He tried his best to shield against it now. And so, he said nothing.

“Galen.” His voice dropped to a softness that wasn’t a whisper, but was no louder than one. “What you’re implying is treason against the Empire. You aren’t a traitor, Galen, and you don’t want the wrong people to think that you are.”

Galen gave another hum of agreement, noncommittal but enough. Orson went back to his sandwich, Galen doing the same, wondering about what Orson had said. Who was he referring to as the wrong people? Tarkin, of course. Officers, yes. But Galen couldn’t help but wonder if, laced in all of his words, if Orson might have meant himself.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of angst this chapter, as well as some of that Lyra Vs. Krennic backstory mentioned a couple chapters back! Thank you all for the reviews and kudos and reading, it always makes my day when people are enjoying the story!! As always, please R and r, let me know what you think!

“The money from my salary is more than enough to live on Lyra, we have lived under our means for years.” Lyra stared hard at him, and he could not tell if that was because that was the longest string of words that he had strung together in front of her that was not about kyber crystals, or if it was something else. He wished, at times like these in particular, that he was better at reading people. Jyn continued her crawl in his arms, clinging to the various bits and bobs of his uniform, sucking loudly on a teething ring and babbling around it softly. She was a small, quiet child, one that Galen had almost feared would be far more like him than planned. But she had her words, and very clearly knew what she was intending when she would tap her hands against his, or boop at his nose to get his attention, which she was trying to do now. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her tiny fingers and moved it back down to his chest.

“It’s not the money, Galen.” She finally said, and he could hear the sadness in her voice.

“I know.” He responded, fighting a wince as Jyn’s fingers tugged at his ever-elongating hair.

“Years, I’ve worked, Galen. I’ve taught, researched. All for nothing, to be replaced by a man who can’t tell his ass from a hole in the ground.” She muttered, and Jyn giggled at Galen’s small snort.

“Mommy said a bad word, Stardust.” He said in a loud fake whisper, and the baby laughed more, patting him on his cheek. He watched her eyes, always changing. In her earliest days, they had seemed the same chocolate of Lyra’s, but now they lighter, more hazel. Closer to his own eyes than to Lyra’s, who were softening as she watched him interact with their little child.

“Perhaps I can ask Tarkin for a raise. Or have Orson do it.” Galen added before immediately realizing he should not have. The softness vanished, replaced by a hardened frown.

“For God’s sake, Galen, it isn’t the money.” She slapped a palm flat on the table, louder than was probably intended, and Jyn turned her head to look at her mother. Lyra sighed. “Please, Galen, don’t do that, I’m just upset.”

“You do not wish for me to speak to Orson.” Galen said simply, and Jyn actually perked her ears up. To Lyra’s extreme disappointment, Jyn liked Orson Krennic. Or at least, she liked that fact that he usually brought her a present and would give her full pieces of candy that she could suck on instead of the only small morsels that her parents afforded her. Galen thought it mildly amusing, given Orson’s extreme distaste for children and the way he looked at Jyn which was usually as though she might turn on him and slit his throat at any moment despite not being able to stand; Lyra, he knew, saw it as almost a betrayal. Especially since now it was nearly impossible to get her to sleep without having the plastic and neoprene stormtrooper doll Orson had purchased for her where she could wrap her fingers around it.

“Do you want me to answer that, Galen?” She sounded tired, which he supposed was marginally better than angry. “It is not that I don’t like Krennic…”

“You do not like him.” She looked up at him, and he felt his ears redden, an apology on his lips for interrupting.

“Not for the reasons you think.” She said softly. She reached a hand out to brush it against Jyn, and Galen watched, almost mesmerized by the gentility. “It doesn’t bother me that you loved him, Galen. You aren’t the first man I’ve loved, I hardly expected to be the first person in your life, either.”

“Lyra…” He tried to say something, but she kept moving her hands along Jyn’s back, rubbing it softly until the little girl nuzzled against him to sleep. His favorite feeling, having her safely wrapped in his arms.

“It’s because of what he does to you, Galen.” She said, finally looking back up at him. She reached her hand over further, over Jyn to cradle the curve of Galen’s jaw. Her hands were warm, comforting, and he pressed into her touch. He hadn’t realized, from a childhood of avoiding contact with others: out of fear or perhaps perceived inconvenience, how nice these small touches felt. They carried love, and with love came genuine peace. He craved it now, which both Orson and Lyra had quickly realized: Orson, he thought with amusement, had used it to his distinct advantage when they were physical, Lyra seemed instead to revel in how it made him feel.

“I can see the changes in your face after you talk to him.” One of her fingers traces by his eyes, where a distinct lack of laugh lines help to define his sharp features. Her thumb drops to trace the small, defined frown lines by his lips. “You are sad. I can see it in your face. The fatigue, the sadness…” Her voice dropped to an almost whisper. “The betrayal, Galen. I see it every time you spend more than a few minutes with him.”

“There is nothing I can do, Lyra.” She met his gaze, and he made himself hold it despite the strong urge to look away. It was rare for him to think of his own feelings: that line of thought took him down a potentially dark path of anxiety and fear and loathing, three things he tried his hardest to avoid.

She didn’t respond. He wasn’t surprised. She had offered more than once for them to disappear into the dark recesses of the empire where no one could find them. Raise their daughter and live a live unbeholden to anyone. There was so much of that that seemed appealing, especially when he was holding her close and those ideas were whispered in the anonymity of the dark and quiet of their room in that brief time before sleep. But always, the next morning came, and they remained where they were. And he would see Orson at work, and the guilt would gnaw at his stomach. What would the man say? He could imagine the hurt on his face, the pain in his voice. And then, that future became something that Galen no longer wanted.

“What happened, Lyra, when you went to his office?” Her gaze broke then, her hand retracted from his face as she stared at what seemed to be the door, but what he knew was nothing but a memory. “What did you do?”

She laughed a bit. “It was the night after you cried in your sleep, something about children and war and famine and the empire.” She said. “I would blame it on the hormones of my pregnancy, but I don’t think I’ve ever had clearer thinking than I did that morning. I woke up before you on purpose and left before you could stop me so I could get to him first.”

“Lyra…” But she shook her head in silence.

“The longer I took to get there, the angrier I got and the more I was able to piece together from what you had said. I was angry, so angry, Galen. And then, when I finally got there, he gave me that same snide look he always does, that all of those officers have, and there was part of me that snapped.” She turned to face Galen now. “He asked me about my pregnancy, and it was as if everything became perfectly clear to me. I told him to let you off of the project, for the sake of our child, for the sake of our future. He refused.”

She let out a sigh, and pushed her long brown hair back off of her forehead. “So, I threatened to shoot him.” She let out a laugh, as if finding the whole situation absurd at the moment. “I pulled out a blaster, and that smug son-of-a-bitch just smiled at me. He knew…He knew you would be there in a few minutes, so he didn’t even call security.”

“I didn’t know you…Lyra.” He was lost for words almost, trying to picture the situation. He wasn’t sure what had happened before he had walked in. He had stepped in to find Lyra standing their with their blaster pistol pointed at Orson’s head while the man had his hands folded on the table in front of him, as if waiting on someone. Galen hadn’t realized that person was him.

“He’s lucky. Two more seconds of that smirk and he’d be one of the fallen heroes of the empire.” Galen sighed, closing his eyes and rocking Jyn gently against his chest. Lyra stood. “I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll join you in a moment.”

Lyra nodded, knowing he needed time to himself for a moment. He held Jyn close, humming softly, into her soft brown hair, rewarded with twitches and nuzzles in her sleep. “Oh, Stardust.” He said softly. “Pain has changed them. I wonder how it will change us?"


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I apologize in advance for the angsty feel of this one. I was listening to the Les Miserables soundtrack when righting, so I can only claim partial responsibility for that. As always, I hope you enjoy, please R and R, let me know what you think :)

“Happy lifeday, Stardust!” Galen said, catching the smiling four year old in his arms as she ran full speed at him. She kicked off from his legs, clambering up to his shoulders.

“Where are we going, Papa?” She asked, as she had been for weeks. Only now, all of the boxes they had been storing the essentials in were out in the open, being carried out in crates. A bad way to spend a lifeday, perhaps, but Galen had never put much stock in them anyway.  

“Somewhere safe.” He reassured her. And he hoped that was the case. Lah’Mu, with its uncanny resemblance to Grange, was an ideal place for two scientists, one of whom carried the knowledge to destroy the galaxy in his mind, to hide from the Empire. Their protections within its walls, all the favors Galen had earned in his life, were nothing in the face of this new power. Finally, the whispers that they might someday leave had come to fruition and the time had come for them to leave.

“Is Mama coming?”

“Of course, Stardust.”

“Is Uncle Orson coming?” Galen pulled her tight to his chest. How to explain that to her? He hoped she was young enough that eventually, she would not ask for him. How could he explain it if she did? How to tell her that the man she considered an uncle, a friend, had turned cold to them. He had become absorbed by his own ambition and had traded kind words and gentle pushes for their support into open threats for refusals to comply with his orders. For each promotion, he distanced himself from Galen, and had given up the pretense that nothing had changed.

“No.” She frowned but didn’t ask. He waited for Lyra, who came in and gathered them in only a few moments. Her hand steadied his surprisingly uneven steps, where he nearly faltered as the wright of their betrayal hit him. As he crossed the threshold, it was almost as if he could feel their fate being sealed. They would not all survive this decision, he only hoped that he would be the one to die at its hands rather than the woman beside him or the girl in his arms.

The ship captain asked no questions, and he let Jyn run around the hull until she was too tired to stay upright and now slept on one of the benches for the overnight excursion. Lyra had retired to their room after their daughter had gone to sleep, but Galen, Galen sat still and waited.

He would not consider himself devious. He was abysmal at lying, and everyone, including Orson Krennic, was fully aware of it. He had not considered that a bad thing until his family had become dependent on his ability to maintain a ruse as though nothing were remiss. Weeks spent in near-silence in Krennic’s company, for simple fear he would say the wrong thing as Lyra began the work at home to get them away. They had even had him over for dinner, as they did at least bi-weekly, stowing away boxes and crates in order to make it seem as though they were the happy, nuclear family the empire had come to expect. Orson had smiled, and shared brandy with Galen, his blue eyes glittering when they spoke of progress as they once did when they spoke of Galen.

Grief had settled into him. Grief and a quiet resentment of the man in front of him. He had once seen so much light in his face, in the lines that now spoke of no laughter, no love, only greed and those feelings that accompanied it. Gone was Orson, replaced by Commander Krennic.

He watched the other people on the ship, sleep elusive as usual, and wondered how his work might affect their lives. It has always seemed very singular, as if what he did truly had very little impact on others, and that his research only truly satisfied his own academic gains. It was a lie. All of it was a lie. He wondered briefly, how much of his and Orson’s relationship beforehand had been a lie? How many kisses, how many touches, how many nights had been forged out of greed and expectation rather than love? Had all of it been a lie? It was so different from his life with Lyra: did different mean that it had never been real to start with?

He sighed and closed his eyes, never really sleeping, but allowing himself to think back and dissect everything he had heard, every feeling. It was more exhausting than any of this had been, the weeks of lies. To pick apart his own life with the same mind he used to pick apart the numbers and figures of the project. And at the end of this, there was nothing but pain.

When his eyes reopened as they pulled from hyperspace, he blinked his eyes at Lah’Mu, looking over to see Jyn, sitting incredibly still for a four year old child, watching the same view he was, and Lyra, who held her hand between her own that were softly weathered from their life roughly-lived.

When they arrived at the house, Jyn stayed quiet, eating the only slice of cake they had been able to bring with them as Galen and Lyra set up their semblance of their home. She never complained, and for that he was grateful. And that night, when two days of not sleeping, and the misery of this all hit him full force, she pressed close to his side, sleeping in the crook of his arm as he finally found sleep as well.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! To be honest, I thought I had already posted this, and thus, I had forgotten that it was simply saved. As always, I hope you enjoy, Please R and R, let me know what you think!

Krennic tapped his fingers on the table, a clear sign that he was agitated. It was an old habit, one that he knew  Galen would stare at him pointedly for if he were here. But he wasn’t here. And thus, the source of his agitation to begin with.

It had been strange when Galen had been late. Galen was never late, not once in the time he had known him, with the exception of his mother’s death, had Galen been anything but punctual. Lateness had turned into him not showing up at all. He had felt the creeping irritation in the back of his mind. Things had been going so well: the pair of them were slated to visit the station itself in less than a standard week. It would take nearly a day to arrive on site: seclusion was essential and building a weapon the size of one of the moons of Yavin was difficult to conceal near any planetary system. Galen being late was putting a damper on necessary plans.

He tried to work by himself, but the knot of frustration in his brain kept him from it, even through lunch where his sandwich sat untouched in front of him. It had to be something with that damn child. The one who had taken an unfortunate liking to him, even though he thought it was rather clear that he had only given her sweets and a small toy in order to try and stay in Galen’s good favor. Perhaps children did not understand that subtleties of manipulations, and instead, she insisted on speaking to him every moment that wouldn’t be considered rude.

It was not until nearly the end of the day that the door to his office opened with far greater force than was necessary. He wanted one of the sliding doors most the offices had: a man of his rank should have the latest amenities and the constant surprises of people who did not think to knock was beginning to grate on his last nerve.

“Excuse my intrusion, Krennic.” It was Tarkin, his gaunt-looking face always an unwelcome and unpleasant surprise. “I have a sensitive matter to discuss with you.”

“If it is about the project, Tarkin, you should wait on Dr. Erso to be here.”

“Then it is good that it is not.” And Tarkin sat, across from him, in the seat that Galen usually sat at to work when he grew tired of his own desk. He gave him a thin-lipped smile, the condescending smirk that Krenic despised from Tarkin and that so often graced his face. Like he knew something. Something that not only Krennic didn’t know, but that he couldn’t hope to begin to understand.

“Is something wrong then? We are ahead of schedule.” Krennic said, tightening his lips, forcing his accent back when it threatened to overtake his words like it always had when he was angry. “And under budget.”

“Like I said, this is not about the project.” Now, Tarkin was just entertaining himself at Krennic’s expense: a game he refused to play. “This is actually regarding Dr. Erso.”

Krennic felt a small ball of malice curl in his throat. He had spent a good deal of time convincing Tarkin that Galen was competent, despite his social issues, and that he was working for the benefit of the empire. Yet, the Grand Moff still saw fit to doubt him. Now years in, and still that distrust lingered, going from Galen to Krennic himself.

“As I am sure you have noticed, Dr. Erso did not report for work this morning.” Tarkin waited, folding his hands in his lap.

“Since he isn’t here, Tarkin, I would have to agree.”

“Upon going to Dr. Erso’s apartment to see why he missed work without calling, we found that he was not home.” A shot of fear went through Krennic. Had Galen been kidnapped? Had he been taken? Did the Rebels know what they had been constructing? “When searching the house, we found the other Dr. Erso as well as their child to be gone as well. I was concerned they had been taken captive at first.”

Tarkin then smiled, cruel and what could barely be called a smile at all. “In our further investigation, it seems that Dr. Erso and his family have deserted the Empire. Their home has been left to make it seem as though they are only on vacation, but surveillance footage shows them moving out several boxes of essentials as well as withdrawing all of their values in cash before leaving the city.”

Krennic blinked. No. This was wrong. This couldn’t be happening. Galen wouldn’t do this to him. To their project.

“Have you seen him?”

“What?”

“Given your history, I felt it prudent to ask. Have you---“

“No.” Krennic stood, and slammed his hand on the desk, rattling it, angry at the lack of anger in Tarkin’s eyes. “No, I haven’t seen him since yesterday.” Yesterday, when Galen had the audacity to smile at him as he left. Tell him he would see him tomorrow.

“In that case, I will put out the order for him.” Tarkin stood to leave.

“What order?” Krennic demanded, his blood running cold again.

“Dr. Erso is a deserter. A retrieval order for now, a kill order if he does not return in the first ten days.” He stared as if daring Krennic to challenge that. To challenge that would be treason. To challenge that would be to put Galen Erso, a deserter, above his loyalty to the Empire. To throw away everything. For nothing.

So instead, he said nothing, and waited on Tarkin to leave him to himself. The world was crashing down, crashing and burning, and if he stayed here, his own emotions would cost him far more than his own construction of himself, but also what he had carefully crafted for those around him. It wasn’t until he got home, the panic welling in his chest, the horror and betrayal and pain that he washed away with whiskey and tears finally overwhelmed him and he collapsed on a bed once shared and didn’t move till the morning.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayeeee, here we go! Sorry for the delay, I'm working on this, another story, and an actual book for my work, so I can only write so much per day before my brain rebels against me. Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy and thank you for the continued support! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

“It is only a matter of time before this station is at full staff, Captain, one might have hoped you had made more progress on the weapons systems by now.” Tarkin walked half a pace in front of Krennic, taking measured steps to ensure he stayed ahead of him as they walked down the hall. Krennic curled his lips. Tarkin knew damn well why they were delayed and he enjoyed pressing that onto everyone of Krennic’s nerves that were still raw after nearly two years of numbing them with long nights of drinking and overworking himself to try and make up the deficit. He had finished the architectural layout on his own, writing page after page of calculations, staying awake through so many forgotten nights and until his fingers bled and red dotted the finer points of some of the blueprints.

 

But he couldn’t do the cannon. The exhaust ports. He could, and had, left space for them, heir were elements in his design that accommodated them. But to get it to actually work, the measurements they would need, the kyber shipments, the processing facility they had established on Eadu. Those were not his work. If the project was to be finished, it would take them both.

 

But more than that, he could feel Galen’s absence like the point of a nail dragging slowly along his ribs. Not painful until it pressed into an already present injury: when he would see the other members of the crew with small children, when the commanding officer he now shared a hallway with would play piano music in the afternoon on long days, but mostly when Tarkin would bring up Galen’s betrayal as if Krennic were living in complete ignorance of it to begin with.

He had lost weight. Despite drinking far more heavily, he found he had little interest in anything beyond work. There were some nights when the loneliness, the knowledge that Galen had abandoned him for good this time, would hit him like a wall and he would call one of the other employees: a nurse who had thought he was handsome, some of the construction managers, the other engineers, and have a bed partner for the night so he could get lost in something other than his own misery for a while. But they were temporary fixes, and his body was never the same high that he could remember feeling with Galen. Even after they were no longer together and the only people who occupied his bed were faceless strangers from the lower levels of Coruscant, there had been the stability he had been searching for in his entire life. He was desperate for it again, but Galen had taken it away from him. Pulled it from under his feet even as he tried to stand on his own.

“You have issued a kill order for the only person capable of fixing the weapon, Governor.” He finally said in response, ignoring the strange looks of workers they passed at his tone around Wilhuff Tarkin, who was making an increasingly large name for himself as a vindictive and conniving leader of the Empire. The Emperor had promoted Tarkin quickly, and he was frequently in good favor. Tarkin was who every officer wanted to be at least once per week. The golden child of a faceless man who lauded over all of them with fear as his main weapon.

Krennic was happy to find himself as the exception to that rule. He despised every fiber of Tarkin’s existence and wished he would find somewhere other than here to be. It was a fond memory one day when Tarkin had made some rudimentary comment on Galen’s calculations and modeling, saying that he didn’t think it could possibly work based on his expertise. Galen, in the most polite tone Orson had ever heard, had said that perhaps if Tarkin could get his head out of his own ass long enough to look at the numbers properly, he might see why it would work. To think of it now felt like a private joke and he smirked at the side of Tarkin’s jaw.

“That is where you are wrong.” Tarkin said plainly, suddenly turning to him as they came to a doorway. “Which is why we are here now, Krennic.”

He punched in his access code and the door slid open. It was a huge model of the galaxy, coded by who was in control of the system. The vast majority was coded with the red insignia of the Empire. Easy enough to find Lexrule amongst those; Brentaal, too. “The project is delayed.” Tarkin began. “The Emperor does not take kindly to delay, as I’m sure you have heard.”

Krennic swallowed, now meeting Tarkin’s gaze fully in the darkness of the room around them. “You have full access to the computer systems, to archives and records and transports. You have whatever resources you need.”

Krennic said nothing, trying to keep his anger back. He was being resigned to the task that an intern or entry-level technician might do. This was Tarkin’s retribution for his own ascension through the ranks.

“The kill order on all of them has been suspended.” Tarkin went on to explain, turning to make his way back to the door. “Find them.”

And the door closed with a snap, leaving Krennic alone again, staring at a millions places Galen could be hiding with only one goal in mind: not to be found. It was one thing to fail at an ordinary task, then at least, anger would be merited. But this, he was being set up, and that knowledge festered in the front of his mind, feeding his anger. He stepped forward, fiddling with the dials and rotors that would move the map around, show him all of the places he could send troops.. Tarkin could try as he like…he would not fail.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody still reading this, lmao? Anywho, as always, I hope you enjoy :) Please R and R, let me know what you think!

Galen was almost certain that the powdery dirt that surrounded their shelter, a rich silt loam that turned easily to mud with the slightest rain, would be permanently ingrained in his shoes and in the soles of his feet. His face, always sharply defined, was now darkly tanned under the sun that gave life to the bush and weed crops that surrounded them on all sides, his hair long enough that it would catch the bits of dirt that would fly up in the harsh breezes that would catch the lose powder around the crops. Nearly three years of working the fields had changed him: he could feel his life, changed by his years at the academy, at the University, in shared office with Orson Krennic, being weathered away by rehashing of old farming talents he hadn’t realized he still remembered.

Lyra gave him the space he needed. And now, even though it was so dark that he couldn’t make out the thickened veins on the back of his hand, and the only light beyond the dim circle of a fully waned moon was the glittering of their nearest neighbors who lived on the closest island to the shore in the distant ocean, he wore a simple path around the house, walking at a brisk pace. He could feel Jyn’s small eyes on his every time he passes by the window where she sat, learning from the books he and Lyra had brought with them in the hope that she might still get an education. She was precocious. In many ways, she understood too much.

As he walked, the tiredness that seemed to nearly encase him and all of his actions began to tug at his bones. He could feel the beginnings of arthritis in his knees especially, born of years of hard labor and, Lyra had frequently joked, three years crawling in caves that had certainly not helped the situation. But there were most nights, like this one, where nothing else would let him sleep. He could feel time wearing on him even harder than the fear, always stirring in the back of his mind, did. A constant motion, a constant eraser of everything he had worked for. To walk was to give himself motion, the slight pain in his knees and the stiffness in his fingers that would result were a reminder that he was still breathing, still pliable, still flesh and beautifully alive, even though he wondered how long that could last.

The anxiety was hitting Lyra far harder. She worked in the fields with him, worked with Jyn when she could, but the rest of her time was spent preparing for what she saw as a coming inevitability. “He will never stop looking for you, Galen. Not now. Not ever.” Those had been the first words out of her mouth when he had commented that they were finally safe on Lah’mu. He hadn’t mentioned it again.

Lyra lived with the fraughtness of a mother who’s child was in imminent peril. Galen was helpless to stop her as she banded herself to a group of rebel extremists: bound him and Jyn along with her with the guarantee that they would rescue Jyn if it was ever needed. Take care of her if the two of them were to perish at the hands of the Empire. So far, in exchange for what information Galen was willing to provide about the inner workings of the Empire, and the long-established credibility of her parents, Lyra had succeeded in her mission. The sea caves near their house now served as a secret bunker. Jyn could get to them in less than three minutes. She could be safe from a threat that was yet to show itself.

He passed by Jyn’s window again, catching glimpse of Lyra pinning some of their clothes to dry on one of the walls. They usually dried on the thin lines outside, but after Galen had washed them this morning, they had found that they were due for rain and so now the shelter would smell like the artificial concoction of what was supposed to be the prize fruit bearing flower of Lah’mu. To Galen, it simply smelled of chemicals and made the clothing stiff to work in when they pulled it on in the morning. But it was a way, he knew, of him and Lyra to retain their dignity when the Empire seemed so determined to take it away.

Little Jyn, now not so little, gave him a four-fingered wave, her nose just over the bottom seal of the window. He couldn’t help but smile. So long, even as a young man and an only child, he had dreamed of having a child. His Stardust was perfect. He wished he could be more perfect for her.

But he did wave back, deciding this would be his final lap around the house. He looked up then, at the sky and the galaxy that lay beyond it. So many stars, not negated by light pollution like they had been on Coruscant, glimmered back at him. Somewhere, floating just far enough away from civilization to not be noticed, was his crowning achievement. The stuff of his nightmares.

He walked, watching a faint moving glow from the market sector as a cargo ship, undoubtedly carrying food to a planet that couldn’t sustain its own population, made its way through the atmosphere. To Galen, it seemed his life had come very nearly full circle. He had grown up realizing that people knew not and cared not about the source of their food, so long as they had it. They didn’t pause to think of the people who labored in fields or wove baskets or who lived near buried in the dirt to the point that it colored their fingernails and hair. He had gone to the program to escape, and here he was back, now avoiding a different fate. He found it oddly comforting that his life had begun in a place like this, where his mind had been free to imagine anything he could have wanted, and it would most likely end in this place where the horrible realities of that imagination had finally caught up with him.

“Papa!” Jyn said as he came back inside, barreling into him at full speed since he didn’t have it in him to catch her. Lyra watched them, a ghost of a smile in her eyes as she pinned up the last of Galen’s dark green tunics. He supposed, at least, he should be glad that he liked green so well.

“Time for bed, Stardust.” He said gently, and she stuck out her lip slightly, a protest hovering behind her words before she nodded and went to get dressed for bed. Lyra said nothing, but pressed a kiss to his temple as she passed to move towards their room and ready herself for bed, her hand brushing gently against his for a moment.

He looked back out the window his daughter had been watching out of, seeing another ship take flight into the sky, a busy night for the off-season. He wondered how long it would be before he looked up to see familiar lights approaching him. How long until the man that haunted the edge of his thoughts, and who was living in the forefront of both his mind and imagination finally came for them?


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, I've watched Rogue One several times in the past week while house-sitting. So these fellas are picking up steam as we near the end of their story. As always, I hope you all enjoy, please R and R, let me know what you think! Thank you all for your continued support, your reviews really do keep me writing, and I appreciate all of them so much :)

He was nearly sick with anticipation, his hands curling and uncurling around the command ship arm until the outer casing on the chair peeled off under his fingers. His crew notices, he can see them skirting around him in fear that he will scream or yell, or do any manner of things that he knows he has now become infamous for. The soldiers behind him don’t help anything: their all black uniforms that hide their humanity from any who see them make them one of the most intimidating special forces in the Imperial ranks. He knows that and basks in the separation they offer him. But he can still feel the people behind their masks, the men and women who falter under his frown when they know they’ve displeased him about something. It irks him: the weakness he can still feel underneath.

But now, he is confronted with what he classifies as his one and only weakness: Galen Erso. The past year of pouring over charts, of following dead ends that he knows Lyra has left for him to find, have left him weary. He doesn’t feel the same, and when he looks in the mirror, he thinks he no longer looks so much like himself. His hair is longer than its been since right after graduation from his Program Days, the first frown lines are cutting across his forehead as his fortieth birthday looms closer and closer. But mostly, even though he can touch his face and look back from his own reflection in the mirror to see the same blue eyes looking back at him, they seem almost brighter. A whole new color, without trivial things to temper them. He feels exposed when he looks in the mirror: but where lesser men might start to avoid eye contact for fear, Orson Krennic dares others to question it with the full-bodied stare that borders on dangerous.

The vast ocean of Lah’mu becomes visible in the window of the ship, clear blue and beating against a shore lined with green. A farming planet of little consequence, as far as Krennic is concerned. Perhaps that is why it took him so long to find it. A planet like this, attracting two former professors, two specialists in their fields of study; it was ludicrous. This planet had nothing to offer them. And yet, here they were. It only made him angrier, seeing the green rise-up around where they had landed. He could remember whispered conversations with Galen about the bleakness of a life carried out on Grange, the anonymity of farming that was both comforting and impossible to live with. And now, here Galen was, voluntary trapped in a life he had long ago left behind.

“Their shelter is visible, Sir.” The pilot spoke, breaking the long train of thoughts that were throwing him into a vast convergence of memory he has no desire to revisit. “There appears to be an occupant standing outside, Sir.”

He looks up, half expecting to see Lyra’s slight frame threatening their ship with whatever weapon she could come by: detonator, blaster, even an extra-long stick. But instead, he saw the familiar long-legged build and lithe frame of Galen in the distance, waiting on him to arrive.

If he didn’t acknowledge everything that had brought him here, he could almost pretend this was some grand reunion. Even as he left the ship, flanked on either side by troopers. But he found himself outpacing them, his steps fueled by some deep-rooted anger and excitement that twisted at his guts. Galen stepped toward him slightly, but he could see the hesitation there, the flicker of fear that he knew well enough to recognize. Not for himself, more than likely for the child that was undoubtedly cowering in the house. He then, could see the change.

“Farming, Galen?” He couldn’t keep himself from nearly spitting out the words. “Really? A man of your talents?”

“It is a peaceful life.”

“Lonely, I imagine.” He could hear one of his troopers shuffle uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure what they knew of all of this, though he was more than certain that Tarkin had told them more than they needed to know.

“Yes. Since Lyra died.” And he almost smiled. Not at the thought of Lyra’s death, though the idea might be comforting after the veritable Hell she had made his life with her band of Jedha-based extremists, many of whom he had killed himself when he had found them trying to hide the family in front of him. No, he had to contain his smile because he could see and feel and very nearly taste the lie as it left Galen’s lips. The man’s now-haggard, dirt-worn appearance did nothing to hide the old tells that Krennic had long ago mapped on his sharp-lined face.

“Oh.” He said, now keeping up his own appearances. “Oh. My condolences.” The rest of the brief conversation faded in his mind. His blood was almost buzzing with anger. That Galen would dare lie to him when he knew that Krennic would know better. Than Galen would say these things to him when it was so easy to catch him in a lie. And he started layering them on top of one another, adding to his own dishonesty. He heard a shout form behind him, the troops returning from their search of what Krennic now realized would be an empty house. Lyra should have been with the child. And yet, she was here. That meant the child was nearby or dead, he would bet money on the first.

“Oh look, here’s Lyra, back from the dead.” Galen turned sharply away, the fear radiating through him, “It’s a miracle.” He couldn’t help the small smirk now. He had caught Galen in a lie. It had been so easy.

“Stop!” He turned himself, looking at Lyra Erso. An incredible woman, to be sure. Brilliant, stubborn, talented in her own right. She had the misfortune of being dragged into this, she could have been an incredible asset to the Empire. Krennic almost pitied her. Almost. If there wasn’t a cold sliver of jealous rage running through him at the moment, he might have admired her audacity to pull a blaster pistol on him. “Oh, Lyra, troublesome as ever.” Returning her to Eadu would be wearing on them both. A necessary unpleasantness.

“You’re not taking him.” She said stiffly. He found it, in the parts of his mind not clouded with anger at her, ironic that they shared the same weakness. An affinity for the man who now stood between them, a gun that would never fire trained on his head, and finally Krennic with the upper hand. Not that Galen would realize such. He did not understand people as Krennic and Lyra did: he loved them, each in turn, but did not see all that they had given up for him. A cold reality, to Krennic at least, and he could only imagine for Lyra, who it seemed had given up a chance to survive with her child for an attempt to rescue Galen from him.

“Of course not,” He replied easily, “I’m taking you all. You, your child, you’ll all live in comfort.” A backhanded promise for Krennic, courtesy of Tarkin.

“As hostages…”

“Lyra.” He heard Galen whisper, but this was between the two of them now. A final showdown, Krennic realized, and a flicker of satisfaction ran through him. It wasn’t her fault that she had provided the balance Galen needed. The strength to leave the Empire. To leave Krennic. Not her fault, maybe, but none of that mattered.

“Think very carefully.” He could see her finer twitching over the trigger of the blaster, the same hesitation in her eyes that was in his own. To kill Krennic would injure Galen, to kill Lyra would do the same. But the standstill that had held them at for so long was dissolving here and now.

“You will never win!” She said, and he watched her face harden into a stiff acceptance.

“Do it.” And he heard the guns firing, and Galen’s shout of her name. But then he was falling. And there was fire in his arm, burning through all of the veins there as the ground rushed up to meet him. He lifted his hand, feeling the burned fabric turn to ash in his fingers, and the thick, warm blood pulsing from the wound. “They have a child!” He shouted, his vision blurring, “Find it!”

As his vision faded, the hands of two of his troopers lifting him towards the ship dissolving into a blurred fuzziness, he could feel Galen’s gaze burning into him as sharp as the blaster wound in his shoulder. A look of horrible betrayal as the troops forced him away from his wife’s body in handcuffs and scoured the landscape for his child. He wished, as he slipped into unconsciousness, that his last thoughts had been more pleasant. Perhaps a happy memory, of long before any of this.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayeeeeee, and we're back! As always, hope you enjoy, please R and R, let me know what you think! Y'all keep me writing, I love you all!

“Dr. Erso?” The sound came as soon as the door opened, though the voice that carried it was timid and almost apologetic. He didn’t turn, waiting on the tea kettle to whistle so he could have something to soothe his throat.

“Yes, Barkley?” It was one of his engineers, nearing forty and so polite that Galen almost found himself walking on eggshells around him, afraid to offend his seemingly fragile sensibilities. “Is something wrong?”

“No, Sir.” He paused, and now sounded frightened. Though not of Galen. Galen Erso did not consider himself an imposing figure, and now, even though he had technically more authority than he ever had before, was no exception. “I just wanted to make sure you were aware that Director Krennic would be on the station soon.” Galen could help the very physical reaction he had, his shoulders rolling slightly as he turned his head to the side in an attempt to ward off the instantaneous and uncontrollable reactions that came with being confronted by Orson. “He sent in a communication asking for you to greet him…I….I told him you were busy and would be available soon after he arrived.”

Galen turned, taking in the man’s expression. He was worried Galen would be upset at what he knew was meant as a supreme act of kindness. This man, this engineer who had paid his talents to the development of a weapon capable of bringing a galaxy to its knees, was trying to keep him safe. Emotionally sound. He gave him a gentle smile, watching the relief come over his face. “I appreciate it, Barkley. I will see you soon.” The man gave a grateful smile before he disappeared back down the hall, his pale engineers uniform reminding Galen uncomfortably of another man who had once paid him kindness.

It would not be Orson Krennic’s first trip to Eadu. If he found him here, it wouldn’t even be his first visit to Galen’s new apartment at the Eadu complex. He would be remiss to tell him no. To keep him out of the apartment that he lived in only because there was no where else for him to stay, that had a bed big enough for two in his suite and an extra room perfectly suited to a child in the other. It was the only proof he had that Orson’s intention had not been to kill Lyra.

It didn’t make her any more alive.

 So he stayed here, despite feeling the extra space and nascent emptiness creeping around him, threatening to swallow him up since he had restricted access to the corridors after nightfall and was forced to pace the apartment to clear his mind. He had been lost to the Empire once, and Orson Krennic had no intention of letting him slip through his fingers again. Especially since he had never recovered little Jyn, who must have managed to hide herself well enough to avoid discovery. He wondered where she might be now. Perhaps wondering the desserts or markets of Jedha as he once had, though he knew she would never have the chance to speak with the Jedi as he had. To examine the crystals from the sabers of the little ones as there masters talked of the unifying force with him over the cheap bread he had been able to afford for himself.

She would be turned into a rebel. If she survived that, she would grow into a woman seeped in violence and idealism. His Stardust, his purest love, would be lost to him soon, even if he did manage to find her. To be reunited with Galen now would be a death sentence for her, and by the time the smoke cleared and he was able to return to her, he doubted it would be in any form other than a memory.

For a man who had never found it easy to develop and maintain relationships or hold closeness with others with the ease that some did, it was a sobering thought. For so long, he had thought that he would end up alone. That a life with others was not meant for someone like him, and that perhaps it was better that way and that his talents could build a galaxy that would resonate those things for others. The galaxy, he thought, was cruel though. It had given him love and passion and so much light. Not once, but twice. And then, just as easily, it had torn them away.

Those were the thoughts he woke to each day. Those were the reasons that his throat was sore and needed soothing after a morning waking to salt dried on his lips and the familiar sound of his own sobbing pulling him from sleep. Only now, as Orson’s ship drew closer, the tea was taking an awfully long time.

 

 

“I have spoken with others at the station, Galen. They commend your work.” He sat still, meeting Orson Krennic’s gaze with what he hoped was an expressionless face. He had never been able to hold eye contact like this. It was amazing how fear and loss and grief and pain could change something. Now, he could look nowhere else, even as the man’s fingers drummed on the table. He no longer thought of the man in front of him as Orson. But he was not, and had never been, Krennic either. He thought of him mostly in images, smiles or laughs or collapsing on Lah’Mu as Lyra’s blaster bolt burned into his skin.

“Did you expect problems, Director?” He watched him stiffen a bit at the use of the title. He still didn’t expect it. He expected things not to have changed between them.

“I did, if we’re being honest.”

“I have only ever been honest with you.”

“Is that so?” He could hear the anger. The thickening accent, the narrowing eyes. He had gotten his hair cut: the small curls that had caught the rain under the bottom of his hat on Lah’Mu no longer existed. His face was harder. Jagged almost. And now, it was angry. “I don’t see it that way.”

“You have always had a way of seeing only what you wanted to see.” A heavy silence fell between them. Galen knew better than to lie. He had too much teetering on the edge here to risk exposure now. He was usually more polite, but there was a deep-seeded rage in his heat at the moment that was sickened that he was even speaking to the man in front of him. It vaguely crossed his mind that Lyra would be proud that her final act had been to try and kill him and that he moved that arm with the stiffness of a man who spent his nights trying to find a comfortable position to relive chronic pain. He could feel a small pit of rage as he felt faintly sick at the thought. To feel pity for Orson KRennic would be a mistake. And yet, here they were.

“It was never my intention to kill Lyra, Galen.”

“I know.” He watched the frustration turn to slight anger at having been interrupted.

“I thought that perhaps with Lyra gone, we could be more…civil.” Came the angry reply, and a hush fell on them as if Orson Krennic had realized what exactly he had said. Blue eyes bored into Galen, a slight of fear behind them. Bordering on apologetic.

“It was never Lyra that drove us apart.” Galen replied softly, finally lowering his eyes to the data pad that lay between them.

“Galen, I apolo—“

“You came to discuss the project, Director.” Galen interrupted again, not caring at his own rudeness. “Let us do that.” And the next moment he looked up at Orson Krennic, he was looking dejected, stricken, and grossly aware of how far he had overstepped his own boundaries.

Not that it mattered to Galen. Lyra was lost, her place in his heart carved out and full of love that would never truly disappear. The same for Jyn. And then there was the spot always occupied by the man in front of him, who drummed his fingers on the table as he read over the reports Galen had typed meticulously. He wasn’t sure what was growing in that space. It was not love. It was almost…cruelty. He supposed that made sense. That nothing could spawn hate like lost love. He wasn’t sure he hated this man. He felt that if he did, he would be certain about doing so, and that just wasn’t the case.

But that cruelty that seemed to overshadow the other things was growing. He hadn’t realized he was capable of things. He could not hurt Orson Krennic, not physically. But his body was hardly the most important thing to the man regardless. Instead, his crowning achievement, his identity, lay spread on the table between them, in graphs and charts and floating in the system. That was the part of him that Galen knew he had complete control over. And as he began to pour himself into the work, into the facts and figures and make himself an indispensable asset to the project, he planted the seeds of his work that would grow invisibly until they held Orson Krennic’s whole self in a vice grip. His brief alterations, his newly laid lies, the foundation of work he had built for himself would show itself eventually. When the work was complete and there was nothing anymore to do about it.

As he listened to him talk, droning in what was meant to be a monotone to hide the excitement behind the plans developments, he couldn’t help but feel that spot in his heart grow a little more and he felt very cruel indeed.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay y'all, with school and work and other writing picking up, I have neglected these fellas. I hope this makes up for it! As always, I hope you enjoy, please R and R!

Krennic had always fashioned himself a whiskey man. The burn was almost relieving now, it stripped away the near constant congestion that came with being on Eadu, but tonight the usually tang of the sour whiskey that they distilled on planet was a light, sweet wine that went with his food.

“Do you not like the dish, Galen? I can have them bring something else.” His dinner companion was staring at his food as though it might rise up off the plate at any moment and attempt to eat him rather than the other way around. Tired of Galen’s deliberate avoidance of him over the last few weeks, he had mandated that he join him for dinner. Wanting a clear head, he had opted for their drink of choice to be the light wine. Now, he missed the whiskey.

“No. They have worked hard enough.” The man said softly, his hair cut short again and pushed back off of his face as though he was tired of dealing with it. He looked older, older even than Krennic who was sorry to say that his hair was starting to gray at his temples. He had hard lines, frown lines. The gentle wrinkles by his eyes that were once caused by smiles had begun to fade back into the still-sharp lines of his face. He looked very little like the dirty, mourning, paternal father that Krennic had picked up on Eadu. Dressed in soft green, once his favorite color, he looked like the head engineer that Krennic had always known he could be.

“You are the head of the department, Galen. Of course they can bring you something else.” And he lifted a hand to make a call, stopping over the button on his commlink as Galen shoved a forkful of the pasta into his mouth, chewing slowly and deliberately as if trying his hardest not to enjoy it. Krennic smiled, things could be so much easier for Galen if he would work with him. Like he used to. Like he knew they could.

“While we’re waiting on your child to join us here, are there other amenities you need, Galen?” Dark green eyes met his sharply at the mention of the child that Krennic could honestly care less about. But he wanted an emotional response, and he would certainly stoop to goading if that’s what it took. Nearly six months on the station, and Galen’s progress had been enormous. Their progress, however, had not been. He had been given more than apt time to grieve for Lyra, who’s body had certainly long since decayed on Lah’mu there by the ocean, and Krennic was tired of Galen’s constant pining.

“I require very little.” He said softly, and Krennic could hear the pain that the man hid exceptionally well. Not well enough, though, for Krennic not to notice.

“Not to worry, Galen, she will be joining us soon enough.” He said, and took a long sip of wine. His statement seemed to offer very little comfort. Instead of responding, Galen picked up the thin stem of his glass between his fingers and drained the glass rather quickly. Krennic watched as he stood to pour himself another glass, the bottle sitting on Krennic’s countertop. So Krennic stood with him, and as Galen’s hand wrapped around the stem, Krennic pressed his fingers, lightly, to his. He didn’t pull away, but he did stop moving, and Krennic could hear his breath quicken a bit.

Krennic’s own pace increased, fueled by proximity and desires he thought he had under control. Not even sexual, just for the closeness that their relationship had once offered him. The Empire spanned the galaxy, but it could be a very lonely place for someone like him.

He moved his hand up to Galen’s jaw, feeling rough stubble on his fingers, turning Galen’s face slightly to look into his own eyes. “Orson.” The man said plainly, but his stare was intense enough that Krennic couldn’t move. Damn him for that. For his power over him.

And then his arms were around Galen, and he was holding him close, and the man’s tears were soaking into his shoulder and his hands were threading through his hair. He couldn’t apologize. He wasn’t sorry that they were together, that Lyra was dead, that their project was coming together again, that they were together again. But he could do this. He could hold Galen like he had so many times before.

And the man did nothing. He let Krennic hold him, let himself cry. And for now, that was enough.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear God, the last weeks have been hell with work and school. I got a second job, which is nice, but also sucks the creative flow out of me, so most of what I've done lately is post things already written. Which is great, except for the fact that this one needs new content and I hate to neglect it. 
> 
> Anywho, we're over fifty chapter in, thank you all for sticking it out with me. My Galen Funko Pop just came in the mail on Friday, and I couldn't be more excited to have both of them with me now, and hopefully his sad little face will inspire me when I'm feeling wiped out. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think :)

Galen watched the refined sugar sink to the bottom of the pan. He should stir it, before it burned, but the effort to do so seemed almost insurmountable at the moment. He was becoming unhinged, and now, trying to make a simple syrup, something he had done a hundred times before to sweeten the liquor he had taken as bitter medicine to soothe his headache the last few months. But he had never had the taste for bitters like Lyra, and he had certainly never been able to drink whiskey straight like Orson. He needed the sweetener.

He watched it thicken and bubble and the glinting silver of the pot start to brown on the bottom where the bubbles stayed. He knew he should turn it off, should give up on this venture and either stir the pot or drink the liquor straight and deal with the horrid taste.

It was amazing he had been given it to being with. He was rapidly earning himself few friends in the empire. It reminded him of his days in the Program: people with goals who felt they should be important and deserved things. There were some, sensing his importance, that had tried to befriend him. He talked to them, but the youth in the faces of the pilots, the faces of the soldiers and operators, tore at him. He didn’t want them in his life, for every one who’s company he found himself mildly attached to, five wouldn’t return from their next mission to the outer rim or even from their travels to the Empirical prisons. After months of that, the stab of it had gone away.

But now, he was isolating himself again. He could sense it happening. He stopped taking his meals in the dining hall, requested pots and pans and supplies to cook them himself. His team meetings were shortened to three hours and only once per standard week. He watched them, aging with the excited thoughts of men who thought they were doing the right thing, that their lives would mean something to the void threatening to close in on them. He could hardly stand their hopeful faces as they orchestrated a more effective instrument of death, and to see them, even though he couldn’t help but care for them deeply, granted him nothing but pain.

Slipping back into isolation was easy: on a basic level, he needed his solitude because it granted him the ability to lay the foundations of the trap he had set. It was a dark trap, deep set and possibly too convoluted to do anything. But, as Galen knew he always had, he clung to the hope that it offered, and he nursed it.

With that thought, he reached up and turned the stove off, moving the pot of the burner as the smell started to burn his nose. He sighed, reaching not for the bottle of vodka but instead for a bottle of water as he moved into the living room. He fiddled with the holopad for a moment, not wanting to focus enough to truly read anything. He could finish his last set of figures, but he was already ahead of both the mandated and his own constructed schedule.

“I wonder what you must think of me, Stardust.” He said softly, eyes fixed on his hands, his ring finger where his wedding band still rested now bearing a small, swollen callous from his pen. “I think of you often, you know?”

There was no answer, of course. Galen knew there wouldn’t’ be an answer. The reality of his life, that his daughter had most likely been killed in one of the thousands of raids on rebel camps, that her body, small but strong, was most likely in a mass grave or had been cremated with the other forgotten souls who were fighting alongside her. He wasn’t crazy. He didn’t picture she was there.

But he could talk to her the same. The gentle conversations that he needed in his life when the solitude of betrayal had grown too much. But, even such things could not last.

A knock sounded at the door, gentle but sturdy. He blinked, setting down his water, the cap not even removed, and stood, pressing the button for it to open. “Galen.” It was Orson, his face slightly flushed, his breath smelling of sweet wine, “May I come in for a moment?”

Galen stepped back, blinking away his surprise. Orson had been on the station for days, but he was yet to come see him. This was unusual behavior for certain, since Galen’s team meetings and apartment were typically two of his first stops. But over the past year in particular, things had changed. It was as if Orson, now promoted again in his ranks, might be realizing the magnitude of what he had done. But here he was.

“May I sit?” He asked Galen, not looking at him.

“Yes.” Galen said, and the door closed and locked as he moved back to his couch, picking his water back up. Orson sat next to him, blinking slowly. He was dressed down from his usual ensemble of formal clothing, though he retained a certain air of authority in the starkly pressed lines of his shirt and pants. They wre looser than what he normally wore, and he was freshly shaved: he looked…younger in a way.

Especially at the moment, when he was looking at Galen. His eyes were glinting with an almost reverent expression. It was because of Galen’s work that he was in the position he was in now, and they both knew it. But Orson Krennic would never owe anyone anything, that he would make certain of. There was more to this. As they had spent more and more time together, less than ideally in Galen’s mind, as the project had grown larger and larger and Krennic’s trips to Eadu more and more frequent as he dealt with refining and budgeting and the politics of it all, he could practically feel Orson’s dependence on him like it was a tangible thing, tangling in his mind and body and soul until he could feel his own tendrils start to form.

He couldn’t lie to himself. Orson’s presence was comforting to him, in the same way it always had been. His brief touches of Galen’s arm, or gentle jokes that seemed to be only reserved for Galen’s ears were something he craved more than he wanted to admit to himself. What had been hatred and then a dull anger had fizzled into an expectancy that the man beside him would remain that way when he needed him. It was dangerous. As the roots of Galen’s betrayal grew stronger, as did his dependency on Orson.

“Were you cooking something?” Orson’s gaze flickered away form him, even as he turned his body to be closer, Galen moving in the same way before he realized it.

“Syrup.” He answered softly. “For a drink.”

Orson looked at him, smirking in amusement. “I’ve never known a man to take his bottled water with syrup, Galen.” He said finally, “But then again, I’ve yet to meet anyone like you.”

He was flirting. Perhaps, seducing would be a far more accurate word. And it was working: Galen found his eyes drifting own to Orson’s lips before they flickered away with the realization.

“Perhaps you haven’t looked hard enough, Orson.”

“You called me Orson.” His voice was little more than a soft murmur, so hopeful that it stabbed Galen in the chest. Only a thought of Lyra, her life left meaningless if he could not be strong, kept him from telling Krennic of his plan.

“It is your name.” He quipped instead, finally unscrewing the bottle to give himself something else to concentrate on. He poured some in his mouth, swishing it around, wishing it were cold. He felt Orson’s thumb on his lips, catching a stray drop as it ran down his lips. And then his other hand take the bottle and set it on the table as he leaned closer.

“You can say no, Galen.” He did whisper, so close he could smell sweet candies on his breath, so many thoughts rushing his mind that made his ears darken with the same blush they always had.

“I don’t want to.” And he was kissing Orson Krennic again. Like he wanted to, like his body wanted him to, like every part of his mind and his family and certain parts of his heart were screaming not to. He wanted him, badly, and there was nothing that he could do for those things other than to keep kissing him because there was no part of him strong enough to make him stop.

Moving with Krennic to his room became a familiar blur, hot and needy and with slightly less finesse than they used to have, but with the same passion behind the motions that tore clothes from their bodies and ran over skin. He tried to lay still, to not let the heavy breathing and grasping hands that he felt on his body control his actions as they finished, Galen giving in fully to his bodies urges, his darker wants and needs, and the feel of Orson’s body around him.

As Orson moved into his sound sleep, clinging tight to Galen as if he could slip away, Galen let a tear fall down his cheek. He ran his hands over Orson’s back, trying to move himself away form that spot, to tell himself that he wasn’t the horrible man that he felt like at the moment, that all of this wasn’t his fault when in his head he knew different.

_Oh Stardust. I wonder what you must think of me._


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The b**** is back, after writing nearly 150 pages worth of papers for finals. Im sorry for teh dealy, it genuinely could not be helped. Thank you all for still reading!!!!

It was rare now that Galen spent more time than was necessary outside of his workspace. He rarely returned to his room even, and typically only when Orson was nearby and to keep up appearances. Years had buried him in a routine of secrecy and lying that now he felt numb to nearly everything, particularly himself.

His skin felt worn down, and every kiss that Orson pressed to the tendons in his throat or to the callouses on his fingers or his thighs felt like a ghost of a touch long passed. When he looked in the mirror, he found himself uncertain of who exactly was looking back at him. He would reach a hand up on occasion, touching the screen where it said his nose was supposed to be, feeling only the cold sheen of the reflective glass facing him. He had felt a surge of rage at that once, contemplated taking the bottle of shower gel of its shelf and smashing every mirror in his apartment to pieces until he no longer had to look at himself. But as soon as the impulse came it had faded, and now, he simply refused to look up.

He no longer cared for his own appearance, wearing the soft green Head Engineer clothes he had for more than a decade now, he let his hair grow long and his beard as well, shaving it when Orson would arrive on planet and not again until his return. He seemed to like his hair this way, something to put his hands in and grip harder. Even that sensation had faded to next to nothing, and Galen could scarcely be bothered.

His odd look earned him some looks from others when he would make it out. He wondered if his team ever discussed it after he left them to their stations, when he could set them on the muddling tasks for the week and continue his own march along the war path. For a pacifist, he thought he now spent a good deal of time thinking of the war.

Not that they would ever call it that. Hundreds of times he had heard people talk of the Empire’s efforts against the Rebellion, and he had never heard the word war pass between their lips. Except one pair, which let certain things slip when Orson was drunk or tired or frustrated or feeling ill at his own misfortunes. He had called it a war often, in the dark, right before he passed into sleep or rolled out of bed with a soft groan because they were both older and more stressed than they should be to continue this sort of work. It seemed to Galen, then, that only two people truly thought about war as it was: the warmongers and the pacifists: only the two ends of the spectrum. Perhaps the rest, the mild protestors, the cogs in the machine, the soldiers, the parents with lost children, they were too indifferent to think about it too much.

Perhaps that was what drew him to the hanger now, He didn’t acknowledge the dozens on nods he received as he passed through the halls, this being the only place in the galaxy beyond where the Emperor and Darth Vader stayed that truly new of the gravity of his creation. They lauded him as a hero, but also as an inapproachable eccentric. And he was happy to let it remain that way.

He walked with a sure gait, hands clasped together behind his back as he watched the dozens of men and women that made up the cog in this particular war machine go about their business. Steady marching, dashing to late meetings, communication through data pads and comlinks like it would all amount to something despite his efforts. He could almost picture Jyn hear beside him, only her in the know about his secret plan, giggling next to him. He knew, if she was still alive, that she would be nearly an adult now, but he couldn’t picture her beyond the small girl who had found it funny when he would hide the fruits from Lyra.

Lyra. He had forgotten what her voice sounded like.

He arrived in the hangar with a loud click of boots, and was quite certain no one had noticed his arrival. They were delivering cargo, both kyber shipments as per usual, but also shipments of food, detergent, and other items necessary for the residential areas of the building. He scanned over the heads _. I can imagine what you might think of them Stardust,_ _you never were impressed with men who thought they were smart._ And she hadn’t been, even as a baby.

He watched as newly promoted Captains gave uncertain orders to pilots who it seemed just wanted a chance to get out of their ships and head to the mess hall. After a moment, he decided to do the same, dodging boxes of cargo and blinking at the strange looks he was given as he passed by young pilots and soldiers who didn’t know the importance of his status as of yet. Not that he cared.

He stepped into the hallway, walking down towards the sound of chattering where he was certain he could secure a quick bite of food and return to his room, rejuvenated from his walk. But he heard a small noise. As if someone might be having an asthma attack in one of the hall closets.

He stopped and turned, letting a group pass by him who immediately started whispering about his behavior when they thought he was out of earshot. They hadn’t heard. Perhaps he had imagined it. But then the breathing came again, and Galen pressed the button to open the door.

A man was inside, his clothes that of a pilot. He was young, younger than Galen had been when he graduated from the Futures Program even, and he sat hugging his knees to his chest. He had hair longer than Galen, but pulled into a ponytail, dark skin and eyes that opened wide as the door did. Galen blinked at him.

“May I come in?” He was emboldened by what he found to be a lack of caring. Perhaps social interactions would have been easier his entire life if he had been unable to worry what others thought of him like this, when he no longer cared to think of himself.

The man, nearly a boy, nodded quickly, noting Galen’s clothes which certainly meant he had a higher status. Galen wondered who he had upset. He stepped in the cramped room, crossing by the man to sit on a stack of boxes, facing him. The door shut behind him. For a moment, there was silence. Not that it bothered Galen, he was, at the moment, trying to consider what had happened to put him hear in the first place. What exactly had possessed him. _What would you think, Stardust? You always told me to talk more._

“Sorry…” The man said, looking up. “Can I…Well…Can I help you?”

“My name is Galen Erso.” Galen said, and he could he saw the man’s eyes widen. “I heard you from outside.”

“Oh.” The man’s face flushed. “We had some trouble coming in. Rebels. I was…well, it was….I’m just glad to be hear.”

“In the hall closet?” Galen asked seriously.

“Ah, no.” The man said, and stuck his hand out. “Bodhi Rook. It’s good to meet you, Sir.” Galen didn’t touch his hand but nodded.

“Would you like to eat dinner, Bodhi?” Galen asked after another long moment of silence.

“Okay.” Said Bodhi, and he stood up. “It’ll be good to eat with someone, most people think I’m too…I don’t know actually….too something.”

Galen nodded, fully understanding, and followed him down towards the mess hall, letting Bodhi chatter. There was something about this man. Something different from the hundreds of carbon copies that wondered the halls of these buildings and flew the ships and worked for the Empire. And an idea came to Galen’s mind, a wishful thought. But perhaps, as he watched Bodhi stumble over his words while ordering a sandwich, not unattainable. In fact, this man may now be his best chance, and he decided, sitting across from him as he explained in greater detail the attack by the rebels, his own fear of it, everything else, that he could take that chance.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shew, back with more! We're nearing the finish line! 
> 
> Happy Christmas to those who celebrate (though I think this made it up a little late), and I hope this chapter was worth the wait! As always, I hope you enjoy and please R and R, your reviews really are what keep me writing, and I love you all for leaving them! :D

“Bolger told me you were getting out into the facility again, interacting with some of the new hires.” Krennic stirred his tea slowly, the lapels of his jacket exposing his chest, only pulled around his shoulders because he was cold, not cold enough to pull his shirt back on under it. Galen sat across from him, his own tea still diffusing and his face showing no reaction. “That’s good. I appreciate the effort.”

“You have always appreciated my efforts.” Galen said, in what Krennic might have thought was a tease, but was delivered in such a monotonous tone that he wasn’t certain. This had been the Galen of late, when Krennic was fairly certain that beyond the rudimentary ones required for his work, their conversations were the only ones that Galen was having. He had become drastically quieter, the silence after they finished having sex nearly unbearable to the point that Krennic considered no longer staying the night in Galen’s apartment. But as soon as the idea crossed his mind, he had curled into Galen’s arms again, feeling the familiar, warm body against him and had assuaged himself with the sound of his steady breathing instead of his words. It was enough for the moment.

“It’s true. That’s how we ended up here.” He took a long drag of tea, not expecting an answer. But Galen’s eyes did flick up to him, watch him drink for a long moment before seeming to trace the lines of his face. Krennic thought of his reply: was it truly how they had ended up here? Perhaps this exact place, when Galen had offered to make tea and he had decided he was thirsty enough to be willing to get out of bed.

“When the project becomes common knowledge, those connections will help you Galen. You’ll be the most sought after mind in the Empire, it pays to have friends.”

“I thought I had friends.” This time Galen did give a smirk, finally pulling the metal sphere from his cup as his tea turned nearly dark enough to be black.

“More than one friend, then,” Krennic jaded back, letting out a little laugh as Galen started to drink his own tea. “Bolger told me he had even seen you in the dining hall,” Krennic prodded gently, trying to figure out exactly who Galen was talking to. There were talented engineers, skilled scientists. Future collaborators if he played his cards right.

“The Captain should perhaps mind his own business,” Galen said, not looking at Krennic, but instead at what seemed to be the space right past him. “But yes, I have taken to eating their when the shipments arrive.”

“Have you met anyone interesting? There were several engineering students that were very interested in meeting with you…”

“The pilots.” Galen answered softly, cutting Krennic off. Krennic frowned. The pilots were nothing, little more than cannon fodder for Rebellion ships in the face of the other, more skilled members of the Empire. They didn’t even have the same training as stormtroopers, many joined the Imperial fleet to rid their families of an extra mouth to feed and send money back to people who no longer cared for them. “I find their stories refreshing.” There was something else there, something heavier.

Krennic took a long sip of tea, thinking of what he knew of the pilots. He let his eyes catch on the gray hairs that were starting to grow into Galen’s ever-elongating hair. The faint lines by his eyes, by the edges of his lips. He thought how his own appearance must have changed, how much older they both must look, especially now, after more than a decade of embattled work on their project.

The pilots were young, their faces youthful and fresh and full of energy. They were excited to see the galaxy still, not realizing how much fighting they would have to do to even begin to surface on one of the thousands of star systems they might find themselves stuck on. How their mediocrity would get them nowhere but dead in the cold void of space if they weren’t careful and how the belief that they were invincible only lasted as long as they could outrun proton torpedoes from rebel scum.

For a moment, he let a flash of jealousy course through him. That maybe it was their youth, that there were things they could offer Galen he no longer could. Young bodies, unexplored fantasies. He thought of how quiet he had been, how still in the aftermath, in their quiet moments, and he let the fire burn in his belly. But looking at Galen’s eyes, seeing the sadness flicker through them for a moment, it quelled, only to be replaced by a thick feeling of guilt.

If he had remembered the years correctly, Galen’s daughter whose name had long escaped his mind, would have been the same age as most of the pilots milling around. Barely adults, but no longer children; learning, but not quite wise. Since their first year on the station, he hadn’t heard Galen mention her except in his dreams; and even then, it was stunted as if he didn’t truly want to say it.

If Krennic had been able to find her like he had planned, if she wasn’t most likely dead in some hole on Lah’Mu or an orphans grave on the far side of the galaxy, then this might not be happening. Galen might not be so alone when he wasn’t here. That Galen might not be looking for her in the fresh faces that were bound to change as quickly as Tarkin’s good moods.

“I’m sorry, Galen.” He said, not even realizing it.

“For what?” The man seemed startled, the feeling contorting his face for only a moment.

“Nothing.” Krennic said immediately. “I was merely thinking of something else.” He finished his drink in quick gulps. “What are some of the stories you have heard? It would be nice to hear something exciting for a change.”


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayeeeee, here's more! I hope you all are still out there, thank you for reviews and Kudos, they literally make this long ass story worth writing, lol. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy, and Please R and R, let me know what you think!

“What all do you do exactly, Galen?” Bodhi said and Galen watched, chewing silently as a some of the mashed starch he was eating fell from his fork. “You never talk about it.”

There was good reason for that. On the surface, he had been banned from talking about it by order of the emporer himself. The pilots who came here knew nothing of what they were constructing and if word got out that he told, he would be executed for treason with little question as to the matter. As would Bodhi.

The other reason, perhaps more surreptitious, was that he wasn’t quite sure how to answer. He was the main engineer on Project Celestial Power, the “Death Star” as it had been named. He was a part-time lover and full-time point of interest for military Director Orson Krennic. That thought stilled him for a moment: he wondered, not particularly upset by the thought, if Orson Krennic had other lovers spread across the galaxy. If there were someone like him waiting at every station he stopped at, sharing an apartment with the others spread around, doing his bidding. He wondered if he was the only one betraying him so drastically.

Beyond that, he was a pride point for the Empire. An engineer. A human. A traitor. All things that he could, only at the surface level, tell Bodhi.

“I do mathematics.” He responded, eating a piece of spinach, chewing and swallowing slowly. “And occasionally entertain guests.”

Bodhi cocked his eyebrows, taking another cut of meat into his mouth. “Do you have a family?” Galen couldn’t help the startled look that flashed across his face. “Sorry,” The man’s cheeks darkened, “I only know that the engineers…well, the engineers can have families…we can’t…I’m sorry, Galen.”

“It is alright, Bodhi,” And Galen smiled softly. “I had a family before I came to Eadu, actually. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Oh,” Bodhi said, and straightened again, his relief evident. “What were they like?”

 

 

Krennic tapped his fingers on the table, waiting on Tarkin to speak. The man had been staring at him hard for close to a minute, seeming to enjoy that Krennic could hardly stand to wait more than a few seconds without becoming agitated. He had things to do, Tarkin knew this.

“The Emperor is not pleased, Director Krennic.” He finally said, taking in a deep breath and straightening his back in the chair.”

“I---” But Tarkin held up a hand.

“The reality is that your machine has created far more problems than it has benefits. The payroll alone for its operation is the majority of the Empire’s personnel budget and the Rebellion continues to grow in strength and number each day despite the structure’s continued development.” Tarkin spoke smoothly, no emotion but distaste coloring his words. “I was under the belief that your relationship with Galen Erso would not compromise the development of this station and yet I am told that he has been slipping in terms of surveillance and accountability. Does that sound like the recipe for a successful venture to you, Director?”

“No.” Krennic was nearly spitting at the accusation. “However---”

“You are out of time, Director. The setbacks, expense, and lack of any sort of viable use of the weapon is at an end. You have six months to complete the project or you will have far greater consequences.” Tarkin blinked at him, his lips turning upwards slightly. “If any more problems should arise, oversight of Galen Erso’s activities will pass to another member of the Eadu security staff and you will be removed from directing the facility.”

Everything in him burned to argue, every fiber of his being wanted him to scream and yell and hit that ugly smirk off of Tarkin’s hideous face.

“I understand,” He said instead and stood, turning to leave.

Minutes later, at the behest of a cargo hangar pilot he was quite certain he had terrified, he was on his flight to Eadu, needing something, anything, to take the edge off.

 

 

“You are angry.” Galen said, his face flushed, body pinned to the back of his bedroom door by Krennic who was pulling his clothes off with renewed vigor. “Not at me, I hope.”

“No,” Orson said and sucked kisses onto his skin that bloomed like dark dessert flowers. Galen couldn’t help but groan as he got to his waistband, undoing his belt and moving his hand under Galen’s clothes far more roughly than usual. “Tarkin.”

“I would prefer you not say his name in my apartment.” Galen listened to Orson choke out a laugh, despite the fact that he was being quite serious. There were few people he loathed as much as Wilhuff Tarkin whose lithe frame haunted his thoughts on occasion as he laid his trap deep in the core of his machine.

“They think we’re working too slowly. They want to take away my oversight of the project. Take away everything we’ve worked for.” And then Orson stopped talking because his mouth was far too busy.

“I won’t let them,” Galen said, gripping a hand in his hair, closing his eyes almost painfully tight against the feeling of overwhelming physical pleasure. “I promise.”

And he did. If Orson was no longer his supervisor, not monitoring his transmissions, not tracking his movements around the base, not checking his calculations, then his plan would fail. They would find the flaw, they would both be executed, Orson for nothing but trusting him. It could not happen.

His conversation with Bodhi flashed through his mind. It was worth fighting to see the look on Bodhi’s face as he spoke of his family, one of hope that he might have that, faith that Galen was not betraying him. Those things alone were worth fighting for.

And, even as he let his body be overwhelmed, he steeled his resolve. He would work harder, work faster. This was beyond him now, it was the fate of millions that he was playing with like they were puppets on each of his fingers. He would do this as he needed to, if only because he no longer had a choice.  


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is short! Sorry about that, the next one is longer, I promise, and hopefully worth the wait, but the timing would not have worked out if this one wasn't in between. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R!

“You are troubled, Bodhi.” Galen walked beside him, feeling the weight of the recorded message in his pocket as if it were made of stone. Today would be the day: His die was cast and soon would be in the hands of the man across from him. There were truly only two outcomes that would be a result of this conversation. Either Bodhi Rook would commit high treason in conjunction with Galen Erso and take with him in his defection the key to the defeat of the Empire’s superweapon, or he would retaliate against Galen, reject everything he had told him, every carefully spoken thought and genuine affection that he had said to the boy would be turned against him and he would meet death at the hands of Wilguff Tarkin who he knew was looking for an excuse to end his life to begin with.

Or, perhaps it wouldn’t be Tarkin at all, he thought. Perhaps it would be Orson, who’s coffee he had mixed that morning before he left in his Delta cruiser to go to a meeting with Tarkin thankfully far from Eadu. Orson, who had nearly tripped on the shower curtain the night before and who had collapsed on Galen instead in the first fit of laughter he had heard in a long time from the man. The first genuine laughter from anyone in what felt like years. It had been light, and perfect, and had been the image burned in his mind as he took the drive holding the message from around the rim of his own tea saucer and placed it in his pocket, letting the taste of Orson’s espresso linger on his lips as he watched him leave.

He could almost picture the moment he discovered Galen’s betrayal, the old model blaster that he had retrofitted being yanked from his holster, the barely pressed to Galen’s head before he thought better of it. What Galen might think was a moment of hesitation would instead be a shift into a more poetic form of justice as the gun moved from his head to his heart, and while the blue eyes he had had spent so many hours seemingly staring into dissected the depth of how much harm he had had managed to do while playing the part of a lover, that same gun would blast a hole through his heart and leave them both with similar injury.

“I’ve been thinking about things, I suppose.” He said, shifting nervously as he usually did. “Thinking about all of this, and how all of this isn’t what I want, I don’t think.”

“What do you mean?”

“There has to be more to it than this, Galen. What are we even working for?” He said, and stopped, inside the hangar bay where no one paid them more than a single glance. “For them?” He gestured to the officers milling about, but Galen understood that he meant something far greater. “I don’t want my life to be for them.”

“I understand, Bodhi.” And he closed his eyes. What was his life for? He had already spoken as much on the recording: so much of his life had been waste, working for men that were worth nothing to him and had taken everything. So much for Orson who had stopped talking about a life together and talked instead about the glory of their finished project. His finished project. And he felt a fresh wave of something, not quite pain, not quite resolve but a crude mix of them. “You don’t have to.”

“What do you mean?” And he opened his eyes to see Bodhi’s, blinking at him almost warily. He reached his hand into his pocket.

“You are going to Jedha?” Bodhi shook his head rapidly, looking around. Galen sucked in a long breath and pressed it into his palm. “Listen carefully, and you must decide for yourself what to do…”


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks! We're rounding the corner on this finally not being a WIP anymore, its kind of insane. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at ewanmcgregorismyhomeboy12 (finally changed my url!) I'd love to chat!
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy, please R and R, let me know what you think!

_“It came from Eadu. Galen Erso’s facility.”_ Galen’s Erso’s facility. Galen Erso’s facility. Galen Erso’s facility. The words knocked around in his head, both grating on his nerves and igniting them with fires of anger.

Galen’s face, the last time he had seen it: Hair combed and growing longer, flecks of gray accentuating the crinkles near his eyes, smiling at a joke about tea. And where he normally felt a bit of warmth grow in his chest, he felt nothing. Only the same coil of anger. Of betrayal.

And to have gotten the message from Tarkin of all people, on the cusp of their shared victory as Jedha turned to dust. It made his stomach curl, so much so that he could imagine the imperial physician telling him again that he needed to relax before his blood pressure before he caused himself serious damage. He had done his best to ignore their warnings, but after what was about to happen, he was certain he would need help.

And still, he could feel a flitter of painful hope in his chest. That it wasn’t Galen at all, just one of his replaceable, inconsequential engineers. One of the nameless rabble of people they had hired in error. And that Galen would feel as bad as Krennic wanted him to, and he could pull Orson close to his chest as they celebrated their life’s work culmination. “I love you.” That’s what he would say. “Look at what we’ve built together.”

The ship rocked as they broke into the atmosphere, the rain slicking the sleek sides of his own personal cruiser. He could feel his crew on edge, inclement weather did that to them. But he didn’t care.

“Dispatch the base.” He gave the order to the trooper closest to him. “Have the staff come outside.”

He was speaking so softly he was nearly whispering, but he could hear in his own voice the stiff quiet of it. It hurt to speak, so instead he wrapped his arm around the edge of the bench, feeling the cold metal through the thick layer of his gloves.

“They want to know which members of the staff to dispatch, Sir.”

“All of them.” He answered sharply, closing his eyes. “Including the engineers.” He would find who had betrayed him. It would be easy enough: Threaten them all and any traitor with a shred of self-respect would step forward. They might be treasonous filth, but he doubted they would let the others die. They had worked together for nearly two decades, crammed into tight spaces with only tea and the occasional joke separating them from their work. And then there was Galen, who he knew had inspired some strange sort of loyalty in them. It was odd, to imagine the same Galen he had always known, able to offer small comforts to men who had no families, no ties other than to this project. And still, one of them had betrayed the rest.

The code came to brace for landing and he didn’t move. The rest of the crew shuffled uneasily, not knowing if they should buckle in or follow his example. In truth, he didn’t care, even as they rocked through the heavier rains and one of the shuttle staff was nearly through off-balance in a sudden lurch as they stopped rather sharply to park on the extended platform.

He tucked down his hat, pushing it down against his ears, knowing that the quick seal would keep the water from his hair. Though, if he was being honest, he planned on spending a good part of the next hour taking a hot shower in Galen’s room while dinner was prepared for them, one less traitor in the empire and one less disgrace from Tarkin to endure when he inevitably had to leave.

It was strange, he thought, as they stepped onto the platform, rain beating against his outerwear, soaking the ends of his cape he had had freshly cleaned only a couple of days before, that a place like this had held so much of his happiness the last few years. The only happy morning he had anymore, waking in a bed that had become familiar, the only moments of real triumph as calculations came together, quiet evenings spent in near-somber company that still managed to a have at least a façade of intimacy about them. In a place like this, flooded and dark and dreary to the finest sense of the word.

And he stepped out, his troops parting to allow him to see where Galen Erso waited on him, hands at his sides, waiting on his arrival as directed. No emotion on his sharp-lined face. But perhaps it was only where it was dark. Krennic hoped, before even that bit of hope diminished in his newfound numbeness, that there might be a bit of happiness there at seeing him.


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well well, holy Hell. I've always wanted to finish this story, and in the last week or so, I got the motivation I needed to do it from a couple of y'all. It's almost done, and I gotta say that it's been on Hell of a ride. Thank you all for everything! Thanks especially to waltzkatzenblut who has been there since the beginning and remains probably my main instigator for fidnign the strength to finish this story. 
> 
> As always, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Please R and R, let me know what you think! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at the same name, I love to chat Star Wars and other topics anytime :)

“Excellent news, Galen,” Galen knew, and had known for his entire life, that reading other people was not one of his strong suits. But it would be difficult in this moment, not to notice that Orson Krennic’s words were cased with false cheerfulness and that below them lay cold fury. He felt himself stiffen, hoping the movement was disguised by his already stiff walking and could be passed off as nearly a reaction to the constant rain. “The battle station is complete.” Galen stopped walking, close enough that if he were to stretch out his arm, his fingers could be met with familiar gloved ones.

“You must be very proud.” Even though he was angry, there was still a familiar smugness to his features. Galen forced his face to stay relaxed, his eyes not to close as he realized that this moment, this small fraction of an emotion meant that thousands, perhaps even more, beings had been slaughtered at their joint hand. Whose silence did he carry? Whose voice had he taken away in the face of a now possibly unstoppable Empire?

“As proud as I can be, Krennic.”

The silence that followed was all of a long second that told Galen everything he needed to know. This was no meeting. This was no staff announcement. He had known that, surely, when Krennic arrived. When and why would anyone have an all-staff event on this rain-soaked deck when their were indoor conference rooms abound? Why waste the resources? Why stand in the rain like this, staring at Galen with cold fury if all Krennic had done was come to make an announcement about the Death Star? And yet, those were the words that came from Krennic’s mouth.

“Gather your engineers,” He said, waving his arm in such a good natured fashion that Galen had to tamp down that last sprig of hope that refused to die. “I have an announcement.”

Galen took his place behind Krennic, watching as the men he had come to know over the course of the last twenty years stood in a shaky line. Rarely did they leave the labs. Never had they been called a meeting like this in front of Orson Krennic.

“Is that all of them?”

“Yes.” Galen didn’t glance back. Perhaps if he didn’t, that would mean one of them had the good fortune of not being subjected to whatever was happening here.

“Gentlemen,” Krennic began, “One of you betrayed the Empire.”

Galen froze. He knew. Years and years and years of planning and nights spent in Krennic’s company and lonely in his office and working so hard to conceal his small flaw and trying to reach Jyn and stalling the plans and keeping Krennic happy and giving his plans to Bodhi, and all of it, every message, every word, every recording, every calculation, was being washed away in this rainstorm. He watched his men look between themselves, eyes narrowing and widening in confusion. They didn’t know. Of course they didn’t. He had meant to protect them. But again, like with Lyra, like with Jyn, the only person he could protect from the wrath of Orson Krennic had been himself.

“One of you has conspired with a pilot to send messages to the rebellion!” Galen could hear Orson unraveling. The same way he did when he talked about Tarkin. The same way he used to when he would cling to Galen.

“And I urge that traitor…” He let the words hang in the air so long that Galen was nearly amazed they didn’t materialize as he swung his arm out again, “Step forward. Now.”

“Very well, I’ll consider it a group effort then.”

Galen had seen people afraid. The young pilots before their first missions. The older generals when Tarkin would come on his visits to the station. The troopers when it was heard that Rebels were spotted in the air space near the base, away from sensor detection. He had seen fear before. And he saw fear again now, staring at him out of the faces of men he might have been able to forge friendships with had his own limitations not gotten in the way. They radiated it, alongside innocence, working in tandem to keep them still.

“Ready.”

Krennic’s troopers stepped up with a heavy metal clanking, the butts of their rifles smacking their black army with heavy thuds.

“Aim.”

His engineers, white coats now streaked with graying dirt and soot, started to panic at the realization that this death call was coming for them. That a lifetime of service meant nothing to a man with a personal vendetta.

“Fire!”

Galen felt himself moving. Purely on instinct. On Guilt. On the image of Lyra’s face as she died to save him.

“Stop! Stop! Krennic, stop!” He could hardly believe his own voice, stronger than it had felt in years, ripping out of him like it actually had a purpose. “It was me.” He added, almost softly.

“It. Was. Me.” He said again, the weight of it heavy as cold eyes stared at him, unsurprised but with an anger Galen had never known them to hold. “They had nothing to do with it,” He said, as Krennic’s arms crossed over his chest. “Spare them.”

Krennic blinked, rain washing away thoughts of silence into an off melody. And then, not speaking, he gestured for Galen to step towards him. Galen did, unable to help sparing a glance at Krennic’s blaster that hung on his hip. He would kill him, surely. His eyes broke from Galen’s, looking down at his hand that he opened and closed.

Then the stare returned. Sharp as flint, cold as ice. “Fire!” He said, and Galen closed his eyes as his crew was gunned down behind him, though the moment passed as quickly as it came as Krennic’s hand struck across his face and he let himself fall to the ground.

“How do I know the weapon is complete?” Was Orson speaking to him? Not yet. He was still standing, though as the words came out of his mouth, he leaned down to Galen, face inches from Galen’s own. “Let me share with you some details.”

His voice was cruel, designed to hurt as much as the strike across the face. In all their time, in all his anger, Krennic had never hit Galen. Galen didn’t think it fit Krennic’s mindset of what love truly was, but in this moment, it seemed that whatever love he had for Galen, whatever had tied him to him so strongly had been burned away in an instant.

“Jedha, Saw Guerrera and his band of fanatics, their Holy City, the last reminder of the Jedi Order.” He looked up into Krennic’s face, taunting him as he counted on his fingers. “Gone.”

 Galen felt his spirit welling up in his mouth. Through the pain, through the loss, through the agony of listening to the one hope he had set out in the galaxy to destroy his own creation having been wiped out. He thought of Bodhi, of Lyra, and of Jyn, and let cold fury, enough to match Krennic’s own, well up in his chest as he waited, defiant, for Krennic to kill him. “You will never win.”

“Now where have I heard that before?”

He held Krennic’s stare, waiting on him to move his hand towards his gun. But it never happened, and they stayed crouched in that indefinable pose until an alarm started blaring overheard, enough to shake the Director from his trance. Galen realized, as blasts rocked the platform, that he was momentarily forgotten. Krennic stood to bark out orders, trusting, as he always had, that Galen wouldn’t kill him. And of course he wouldn’t. But he wouldn’t stay crouched in this pose, standing himself in what felt like a miraculous way of cheating death.

He stood, wondering if he should go inside with the rest of the staff, or wait on the platform for death to take him. “Father!” The voice was unfamiliar, but burned inside him all the same. He and Krennic turned at the same moment to a figure on the far side of the platform, and he let her words bounce in his head as Rebellion ships came into view overhead, doing their best to destroy the platform he stood on. He saw the figure, one often held in his dreams, one he had talked to so many times, one he thought for certain had died so long ago that he had not dared think that she would make it to this age. He looked at Krennic, now realizing that the man had kept his word all those years ago. She had never been harmed. Not until now, when his blaster was leveled at her head.

But in another instant, that vision was gone. Everything was gone as his legs gave out from under him and he felt himself flying through the air, suspended like a puppet in the still rushing water before crashing down on solid ground again, feeling his bones give way to the hit, feeling the damage that he knew was tearing at his insides. He opened his eyes again. He could have sworn that Orson Krennic was looking at him, sorrow and agony battling in his severe expression. Surely those feelings weren’t for him. Not after today. He closed his eyes, but the image of Jyn remained in his mind.

Perhaps Krennic had actually killed him, so quickly he hadn't noticed. And she had simply been waiting for him here.

But then two hands were on his chest, shaking him back to a strange sort of life where things were beginning to move very slowly. “Papa. Papa its me.” He blinked his eyes open. “It’s Jyn.”

“Jyn?” He said slowly. And the woman looking down at him was such a copy of Lyra, his own eyes caught in her face, that there was no denying it. “Stardust.”

“Papa, I’ve seen your message.” Her hands cradled his face. He could feel her fingertips, the feeling of them fading too as he realized that he could no longer feel his legs and that his fingers had an odd prickling sensation in them. He couldn’t react. Message? Which message? Which of the hundreds of unsent messages he had written for her had she heard? How did she get them? “The hologram,” understanding floated into his mind even as his eyelids became heavier and heavier. “I’ve seen it.”

“It must be destroyed,” He said, the panic fluttering in his chest enough to make him able to grasp that last bit of reality. With Saw dead, who would destroy it? What rebellion remained?

“I know, I know.” She said, her voice urgent. Like Lyra’s had always been after she had joined them. He reached up a hand to her face, pushing wet hair back off her forehead even as his own ability to see started to blur into an odd light. “We will.”

“Jyn,” He said, and her name felt so smooth. HE had been wanting to say it, dying to say it, for years now. “Look at you. I have so much to tell you.”

But it would have to wait. He closed his eyes, letting his image of her be washed away. He had seen fear, in his men, in his life. And he had seen bravery, just now as Jyn had promised him the completion of an impossible task. But he did now know what else he would see.

He felt breath leave his body, and for a moment, he hung suspended in some sort of trance. No pain, no rain, no bruise that would never fully form on his cheek. Instead, he flitted between two scenes. One with a laughing baby, running away from him as a woman with still-soft eyes watched them both play in their small living room. And the second was a boy with still-curly hair, smiling at him before a kiss in a shared dorm room alight with the glow of all the galaxies planets.

And then, as suddenly as they had come they were gone. And the world was dark again.

Galen Erso was dead.


End file.
